Such determination not to be determined.
Could there possibly be a more suitable muse?
I think not and care not for an answer,
She keeps me guessing with the greatest of ease…
If there wasn’t a glimmer of hope it
Would almost be pathetic,
Yet how it is , is how it seems to be,
Pathetic to some perhaps, yet horribly
Entrancing to myself.
If I thought that I ever had her, I would
Say I am losing her, no matter how
Enthralled I may be, but as it
Is, I have no idea whether I had,
Have, or will ever have her.
It’s pretty much the same as the beginning; a
Vast indifference. Most of the time I
Feel I’m just a tool for her boredom,
Yet other times, just every once in a while,
I swear I sense genuine
Affection. I don’t know if it is my
Longing imagination, or non-fiction, but
I do know it is exhilarating, and exhausting.
Exhausting because I am so left in the dark,
But I guess I could prefer that to what possible
Light could come…
What dramatized insanity I suffer…