Nothing short of disappointment
A feeling all too familiar
To Me.
Always failing to reach the top
Unable to meet the mark
For You.
Satisfaction seldom found
Never quite enough…again
For You.
Continuous flux and float
This – the only constant
For Me.
Contentment? A farce.
Love? A convenient lie.
Success? Fleeting.
Friendship? A wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Hope? Is Nothing.
These things – To Me.
Try as I may, try as I might.
All of my reality – insignificantly trite.
So, I ask myself
Is it worth the fight?

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