days and hours drag by in a pitiful charade of potential,
with body and life intertwined in a consistently vanus state.
the mind locked, spinning recklessly and full to the edge,
and to control notions remains impotent, as form waits static.
        i love, i feel, i swear - i do;
        i regret more than you.
only one method, in the eyes of the cad and ladies, stands;
and despite foremost efforts to demur at ideas of immorality,
remorse cannot cease the transient desired need for inferno.
and it is common knowledge that it will not stop, dear.
       i love, i feel, i swear - i do;
        i regret more than you.
for we are on a fast track, heading the wrong way,
all the while, infallibly delighted by every coy pass.
try as you may to hold us down; keep us grounded,
flying away, with the moon at our backs, is what we do best.