waiting to be saved
from a loveless existence
rooted in foreign anger
with sickened persistence

aiming with the mindset
To fall short from the mark

blind fingers reaching
out in the wild dark

I reach for a a willing hand
tensed up in assistance

no man willing takes the
form of the damsel
but I am no man bred
of this world

I won't feel the will
from within, I'm doomed
to be doomed confined
in cold rooms

I wait for who's to be
the breathe of worth
that sweeps through