Obsession, fills me and-
entrances me, with some intricate patterns of both
desire and madness.
What I see is-
more perfect, and-
more beautiful, in my mind,
and it I see, and I leap-
leaving all things behind.
Yet, in time, what I see begins to
fade, and to-
fall apart, and with the
fragments before me, I
cannot find the words for-
the phantoms now lost in my mind, for
images, decayed.
And surrounded with the dust of things dead and dying,
graying with the swell of time,
I find no truth in the patterns that sought meaning,
and my passion becomes as hollow as the dreams it once contained.
And, with all things now dead and lost,
what is there that can be said?
