Don't Let The Bastards Grind You Down

Semantics, or Some Antics?

                 Lost

The searing reset of pessimism,

                 Lurking,

Like walking into combat naked,

                 Powerless.

Feeling like the dissolving chords

In an unfinished symphony.

Tonight,

The moon sets on a withered twilight,

And this bedside referendum

Has left me with an interfusion of

                 Lust

                 And

                 Loss.

Untamed queries haunt my thoughts,

A pounding dysfunction

Cowering in the shadows,

                A scheming wallflower,

Biding its time,

               Knives honed,

               Guns locked,

                                 And

                                 Loaded.

Perhaps I am not so much lost,

As I am

In hiding.