A Meaningless Collection

Early 21st Century Romanticism

I've no doubt my stubborn self

will soon kill me

Everyday I relive the same thoughts

My way of thinking never changes

I hold onto such ideals so tightly

that my knuckles are bruised purple

and my teeth sore, gritted and unrelenting

I hate being a romantic

There's no sense in waiting for an eternity

while suffering a purgatory

There's no reason to wait at all

I'll find the antidote to my paralysis

before I condemn myself

to a pathetic trace of a memory.