Throes of Failure
Dull is my spirit still looking to aspireunderneath your sordid tale of debauchery and eroticismSpare me no cost of this desired sin; to conspireregain, retain every ounce of it, wrapped upon overpowering hedonismThe nectar to which you drip at my feetbrings forth rejoicement, sweet tears I have weptStreaming down a tired face filling a heart; skips a beatfor my lady, burning a candle every day to the dream I have keptI know no such liberty from the throes of failuresomething unattainable within this shorten life spanFor lack of wit and insight, I must continually endurethe wanton path of a trivial man, thus it beganThe god of love does not exist for the deeply departedsouls of misdirection; their folly I shall decryBoasting the tails of my youth where as this heart has bleddown the meandering riverbed, ultimately where I lie Written September 21st, 2001 © on Sep 21 2001 10:52 AM PST 18 • 0 • 1
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"Dull is my spirit still looking to aspireunderneath your sordid tale of debauchery and eroticismSpare me no cost of this desired sin; to conspireregain, retain every ounce of it, wrapped upon overpowering hedonismThe nectar to which you drip at my feetbrings forth rejoicement, sweet tears I have weptStreaming down a tired face filling a heart; skips a beatfor my lady, burning a candle every day to the dream I have keptI know no such liberty from the throes of failuresomething unattainable within this shorten life spanFor lack of wit and insight, I must continually endurethe wanton path of a trivial man, thus it beganThe god of love does not exist for the deeply departedsouls of misdirection; their folly I shall decryBoasting the tails of my youth where as this heart has bleddown the meandering riverbed, ultimately where I lie..."