I often wonder when my life took the turn.

With a trajectory so seemingly true,
it suddenly became a grand farce.

Did my heart stop beating
when my mother's did?

Or was it the betrayal years
that were the ultimate undoing?

I currently live in a place
where any greatest pleasure
is the primary focus, and
that often results in my anguish.

Is it the times, or just the location?

If I am put in another place
will the same result happen either way?

This poem is shit, like this life.

I suppose that's the point.

09/01/2014

Posted on 09/01/2014
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