The odds are not in our favour.
There’s little hope left.
What optimism existed has been strangled to the very last breath. Shuddering on strangers floors at 5 am; focus a shattered mess near the litter box that this apartment’s aroma resembles far too clearly; allies become foes in the blink of an eye.
But This
Won’t
Augment me. Cut out the poison; detach from chaos; pacify desire; quell instinct;
But don’t
Too many hours logged, too many miles conquered, too many grey hairs.
Too much love to let go.

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