Without virtue, care; directionless, everywhere.
The arrows are crossing and my mind is left at dawn to get up and pour some cold tea, only hoping that this opportunity doesn’t slip by when I’m so close to grasping it.
Do the job, work the ethic, I only want you so much.
Then there goes my mind daunting another day.
How could it all be so plain?
I was looking at the map wrong, again.
Stillborn ambition, there’s something murky in the Wild West of my mind. Soul is breaching. Mind is breathing.
petrichor - archive 