Transfer 07/04/25

Choices

I desire the free choice of bad options. 

The bed of filth in which I lie will be all the sweeter,

for being my own

Wrong

Something indefinable is wrong, 

without but yet throughout,

staining all,

but touching none. 

Naive to think it is just me, 

Copernican theory proves no world rotates around my anxieties, 

instead it must be general.

Come again the falling damps of optimism,

the misplacing of hope,

and the empty promise of tomorrow.