Now, I don't usually title my poems.

So you can infer or concur the vitality of the true reality of to whom this poem belongs.
See, his smile is worth while, but his eyes are set in stone and it is there I find myself  so far from being alone. 
But something's wrong.

I've come face to face with inescapable, trying to win first place for something that's obviously replaceable, 
....or unmistakably a mistake that I would soon pay for. 
But we all got wishes, however the genie only gives a wish along with something disdainful. 
 

See, I want you, that's my wish, my plan. 
I have dreams of a slow dance with a long hopeful romance, but the dreams end. 
I face reality and regress into the progression of the thought of how it might end. 
 

I'm broken; 
emotionally, mentally. 
In hope that you could fix me.
Or it could go the other way and this could be the end of me, metaphorically. 
But, 
rhetorically the question still stands. 

Will I get in line for the ride or stand on the side with the admirers who don't stand a chance. 
I stand a chance? 
Ill bare the weight of whatever weighs down on what's left at hand. 
So
..what's left at hand?
 

It's up to you, I'm in line waiting on my chance to win you. 
 

Now I don't usually title my poems but if I could think of one right now it would be you.