Do these lovely grounds permit me
Of my present presence, like thistle
Be unwanted and undaunted

Taken greatly in arbored orchard
May my refuge grow demure
Taken often by lapping banks
May my breath grow slow and slight

By those tentacline roots
Those heightened and lengthy articles
May that shade and slanted sallow
Blanket lightly my discomfort

Ne’er is there such wondrous sedation
Then this lilting life, by waterside
And no bile ink nor vitriol
May ever dissipate this lovely truth

worth is not in my vocabulary,
I am without it.
there is no worth around me,
no value or importance.
leaving myself to believe
that worth is just a construct.
I will not focus on it,
for I am utterly useless.
holding on to anything
that will get me through the day,
nothing that contains worth.
there is no point in the world,
yet I am still searching for it.