Monday, 28 October 2013


Trepidation is the protagonist of the narrative
Of this life. Striding confidently down the lonely aisle,
But running from the altar, it is an imperative
Attribute of my character, that sick sense of denial.
I am not left without a want for some form of desire,
Let it be stated that I wish to be elated,
For any other alternative would make me a liar,
A sense of foreboding leaves me alone and undated.
The clouds roll in, the ones I myself brought into being
And I cope, cowering underneath with my head held low,
For there were many, potentially, but now they are fleeing,
My sunshine, my daylight, I watch as they inevitably go.
I suppose then, through it all, in summation:

I am left shivering in the downpour of adoration.

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