Plummeted into purgatory
the days drip away into a
river of rivalry.
And while the soul subjects to succulent, supple
sameness, it's
eating me up, from the inside.
Slowly, I scar.
Wounded by the disproportion and the scarcity of the exquisite...
but the beauty of you, and the beauty of me,
binds us like branches.
Futile nature, cemented in a foundation of monotony.