Oft I shun my desires
Oft I run too much
I fail to understand from what though
The venomous clamor from the window,
Or the clangor of my own?
What is more frightening to deal with?
What matters more?
Perhaps, choice has come early to me
Perhaps, rejoice has bid farewell early to me
What am I to do with the abundance of nothingness that stretches across?
***
πΉππ π‘βπ πππ£π ππ πΊππ, πΌ ππ πππ‘ ππ’ππ π‘ππππππ π€βπ¦ ππ.
πΌ ππ ππππ¦ ππ’ππ π‘ππππππ π€βπ¦ βππ π‘βππ ππππ ππππ π‘βππ.
When you've prepared yourself for the worst; and it still comes. But from the wrong direction.