It’s not failure if I didn’t do,
Nor is it an achievement,
I’m chez soul-crushing drown,
And a self loathing high,
Due its not a F but N/A,
Or cut my nose to spite my face,
So never lived,
However, have I ever died?
Cried as lovers took your hand,
Laughed when they broke your heart,
I care, maybe will forever do,
How could I believe I’m the one,
For I can’t get the asking done,
Time reminds me this isn’t a movie,
Missed chances only return in another cat,
Allergies but loneliness is vaccination,
Self inflicted entropy.
Too querulous in my self caused quagmire,
Talk I’m the most unfortunate man
To set a foot on Mother Earth,
Its me, myself and I feeling hells flames
already,
Social phobia and agoraphobia?
No, phobia of feeling real, healthy love.
Not trying is also attempting suicide,
Its a F even if it was never written,
A Zenith’s sacrilege to act like Nadir.
Today, the turnaround time is here!
I’m running, swimming,
cycling or flying back,
My love is more sinewy,
than my post-mortem,
‘Cause if failure has to transfigure me,
Then rejection be my
Coup de grace making chef-d’oeuvre.
Maybe I get the boy...