What if
your desires are carefully crafted
your ambitions quietly learned
your lust artificially stirred
your suffering self-inflicted
your wants, unrequited, just self-sabotage
and wanting a win
where none can be had
is simply a way
to fill the void
to feed the silence
to feel something
like scraping a spoon against an empty bowl
the hollow echo that comes from a desolate place
yours
not yours
pollyhristova 