Am I not a story?
A perpetual juggler
Or any apparition hustling to survive?
Miserably, a blast!
Of flames and flowers
Perceived as hollow and no art!
Am I not an artful soul, grinding?
In this shallower life!
And all the seedlings that I borrow
From every disregard.
Today, I sit in a corner all lost
In a patchwork of highs and all lows
What a sight to behold within me
The fission of my lamented sorrows!