success is easy to share, failure hard to own
can’t do it, apparently. logically though, this cannot be true.
for what purpose is the battle waged? what prize will the victor claim?
could it be that the title could’ve been is want to gratify sufficiently so to side-step the risk of finding nothing but a fogged fantasy poised there behind the banter?
i know, the possibility has been said, weighed, measured and graded but yet, this step must belong to different legs.
the globe is near-empty of its sand. diversions can always be found, i’m sure, though of that ilk i’ve become so wearied.
can i forsake the gnarling and gnashing, the lavish liquidations and, indebtedness and years of insipid indecisiveness?
where are the balls?
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