A life of endless possibility,
More books to read
Than ever my eyes could
Consume.

Each pause of breath
An absence of life,
Each forgotten kiss
A sorrow.

And what do I owe to the meagre crowds,
Who so demand my time?
My life once spent
Is worth no more
Than a petty, failed crime.

This world contains indomitable scope,
More ground to walk
Than ever my feet could
Assume.

Each silent word
Is a wasted thought,
Each forgone embrace
But a lie.

Still, I walk in ever-decreasing loops,
Some solipsistic spiral.
My youth soon spent,
‘Till all that’s left
Is my poisoned past, now viral.