I always fall in love with the unachievable:
her, writing, freedom
And as if that isn't sad enough,
it is my own cowardice and
self-imposed self-*******-righteous
limitations
that hinder me from my luxuries

I wait too long for them
I trade words for numbers
I am a bad poem
with metaphors that exasperate
instead of enlighten

Eureka, I have figured myself out but I don't know what to do with it.