Reclusive Intent
The torture doesn’t seem as extreme these days…
Opportunities rise and fall, like clock-work, before me.
I understand the realization, not feeling the pain, but being one with it.
Mental strife is the key to destroying basic mediocrity,
The essence of the spirit divided tolerantly, evasively equal.
I am still the recluse, the lonely wanderer, the common waif.
Yet I am more content than recent memory serves me…
I long for the coldness of intent.
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