Why has the doubt set in, why is it gleaming as if it could win? Is this my story like Huckleberry Finn, or just an inventory of sin? Therapeutic in its own right, some bit of light in this dreary night. Things seem bleak, just out of sight, fumbling in the darkness with all my might. Chasing away misery and how it screams, not letting its motives burst the seams, wearing a mask in Facebook memes. Guarding the place of dreams, defying gravity it seems. Loving those that choose to hate, not picking either side of the gate, letting them go first because I will wait. Rabid for a clean slate, but not nearly dumb enough to take the bait, is this inevitable design really fate?
©pcmanpat
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