Wednesday, August 11, 2010
It started small, the way of all things. Supposedly in reach, it's taste in everything. What game is this? Why pine for lies? What good could come? Pointless, for all my tries. Envy evil, ambition lost, sorrow friendly, years the cost. To never accomplish what's dearly sought. Empty inside, never to be caught. The grief has no name, swallowed deep down. It festers inside, a king with it's crown. It rules everything. Little can cope. One reason to fight The little word, hope.