No, not really

What fools errand is this to

Hope for someone to give a shit,

To care beyond the end of their

Nose, to put themselves in shoes

Not their own.

What clown persists in taking o

The criticism, the flak "it's ok"

To keeping waiting for a better

Day, a day when the self

Can be seen, valued, appreciated.

It's a small little world, this of

Humans half-lived, perhaps like

Caesium or some other spontaneious

Decomposition. The want

Of the whole from another ist

Doch Wahnsinn, and we do

Or I do, and

Presume it's the whole

Who goes wondering through

Life for completion,

With another, to learn that

Ultimately you're alone,

Where you'll rot,

Be forgot.

That anger you thought

Holy and worthwhile

To raise a point

For some air, become

Tritely dismissed as a temper

Tantrum. It doesn't matter

Nor do you, except where

You meet the needs of

Another, unflinching

Her cold glare searing

Less than contempt

For that matters and

You don't.

What idiot takes on responsibility

For all the shared disappointment

Absolves the blame

To build bridges that

Joint souls might travel.

This fool, clown and idiot

Embarks now, embarks

Always, and fucks up, and

Gets flayed, keeps on walking.

For it is here,

In the bitter,

That the blessed

Descend haunted.