Avenue

How much do I enjoy the enticement

of the cold damp of the night

within the winter darkness of my blight?

 

How much do I look forward

to the deafening scowl of each lost moment

the discouraging agreement of my latest disaster?

 

How long can I stare wistuflly

into anyones eyes, assuming nothing

full of complete weakness, suffering?

 

How deeply will I strive, efficiently at most

to see the success of this shadow-like ghost?