pungent with the odor of despair,
calling upon an incentive for existance,
reaching for the nearest dare.
A lonely essence wonders aimlessly,
softly wailing secret dreams.
Behind clouded eyes and momentary moods,
Counterfeit cravings for approval rip at its seams.
A mangled devotion looses its destination
among shredded leaves and gray snow.
Blinding the course it desired to grasp,
farther down, its eyes cast so low.
A hopeless hallucination's glimmer lessens,
slowly receding until completly melted away.
Fixated followers lose grasp,
until all dreams once dreamt are lost in a day.