“Failure Spiral // Witness Marks” is a blistered fragment from the edge of philosophical exhaustion — a poem that resists salvation with surgical precision. Cast in scorched economy, it unspools a mythic post-mortem of civilization, depicting a world not built but inherited — a residual loop of cascading failures mistaken for history.

The voice is not that of a prophet, but of an archivist trapped in recursion — mapping entropy with a cartographer’s detachment and a poet’s poison. In this world, survivors are no more than loiterers of meaning, spectral stewards of systems that have outlived their gods.

There is no crescendo, only a ritual of reckoning. Each line is a witness mark — the scorched etching of presence, absence, and the irreparable fracture in between.

Simple is my Nirvana

WORKING TITLE GUYS!...
Just remember that it gets better... I personally dont experience (all of) this but it hurts to see the people i love who do

I wrote this with a woman in mind.

Someone who has been one of the few women I've admired in my life whose personal glow, seductive charm, ****** allure, artistic spirit, and celebratory persona has captivated me repetitively, although I only know her as a model and acquaintance, not a close friend.

With my health as it's been for so long, and my sociability being at an all-time love, I've been single for the past 14 years and celibate for the past 5 years.

Being a fan of women only, who provide their services as purveyors of digital, ****** indulgences, has been my only means of keeping to myself and not suffering the ache of venturing to sail the seas of dating that have, truly in my time, convinced me never end well and never shall as I'm decidedly, and experientially, undatable.

I've come to a point of acceptance on the matter, and to no longer feel shame that I'm definitively incompatible with most if not all partners past, present, and future.

The most pressing reasons are firstly my financial and vocational spirits, talents, opportunities, and experiences, that are virtually impossible to pursue nor entertain any longer in my life as I have had it with persisting either as an artist or as a 9-to-5 employee of any business or institution; secondly, I am, sad to say, wholly committed to being euthanized, but cannot afford it, and it is regardless illegal in most territories in the United States, except under the strictest conditions of physical ailments that are terminal, which is ethical, and a surefire safeguard against medical malpractices, but not realistic for people like me whom, I believe, have legitimate concerns of wellbeing, quality of life, and ultimately, are sufferers of having no will to live to sustain ourselves and consciously bear the passage of life.

Like Frodo Baggins, in the Lord of the Rings, I feel that call and that pull to be away from life. To travel away. But there is not "traveling away" from life.
There is bearing its passage until death. And so, I see not other means of existing but bearing out however I may survive until my mortal coil expires.

So, in my deepest of heavens, where I sustain my wills to romance in my mind, heart, and soul, the woman to whom I dedicate this poem is someone of a true inspiration to me, and one of two whom I've written poems for, of this like, which can be found on this site.

I have no sense in me of ever truly wishing to be with this woman.
Her life is complicated, and far from my relativistic reality of experiences.
I doubt we could ever see eye-to-eye or get along long-term.
I wish that were not the case. Regardless, I hold her in high regard as somewhat of a light to me. Someone who lit a fire in my soul that never quenches, and never fails to illuminate my mind with the breath of love, romance, inspiration, courage, and peace.

Yet, this same woman is also someone through whom I've seen, felt, and feared the deepest terrors, visions, and heartaches of unrequited, forbidden, doomed, self-destructive, and tragic love made manifest in our unity.

I know not if that is true, or if it is truly, rather, my sense of living a nightmare, separate from her and my pining, that tinges my experience of her with dread because I am an inferior man, truly, in the face of any kind of meeting with her, and I'm terrified, not only being lesser than her in stature, experience, maturity, and having established a survivability in this world, but I also fear how free, and dangerous, she is, and that danger, that freedom, is something I would never afford myself the love of.

I could never love someone that free and dangerous because love doesn't survive in those stressful climates borne in her promiscuous lifestyles of heart, body, and mind. I could never imagine marrying her, having children with her, living together with fidelity and honor, and truly making every effort to value each other with the eternal heart of God as our footing in our time together.

And so, truly, I see myself wounded in finding my heart so willing to be open to her, but to closed to the experience of what I imagine is certain, undeniable, and fatal pain that would end our union as powerfully as it could ever have begun were it to have become a union made real.

Despite all the omens in my purview, eclipsed by all the potential holy revelations of love beyond imagining with her, I see her as an elixir of beauty, forging ever anew in my heart every day I wake and think of her - someone I don't know and haven't spoken to in over a year, but still treasure in my heart in a way she could never understand or know.

Several months ago, she moved to a city nearby, and in the passage of her arrival, an earthquake happened on the eastern seaboard spanning from her city across to mine.

She truly is someone who rocked my world, but I don't know whether she bodes well for me, or is the source of harsh, perishing, and punishing lessons for me to wake up and learn that love is not a dream for common men, it is a war for the hearts of lovers that cannot be waged without the sums, strengths, tethers, measures, and weights of power, wisdom, and truth worthy of defending that love, be that love holy, and Of God.

Regardless, I pray she remains well. And she is always in my heart, but going forward, perhaps more in my prayers. She is an angel to me, but in the sense of being an evoker of passions, not of faith and fidelity, which is where I find my boundaries and safeguard planted, fortifying me for when she is someone of a heart, mind, and soul alike to mine.

As always, enjoy...

DEW