Why is it that every time I finally get it within my grasp,
it slips away like water through a strainer.
So close to what I need, desire, admire,
willing to drop everything for that one chance,
but every time.
Every God ****** time,
it slips away,
out of my hands,
onto the floor,
where it crashes; painting the floor with my failure,
over my other fresh coat of dreams.