A Prostitutes Heart

Viewed from such an unsteady perch

an unbroken yet poorly drawn line in the sand

fails to indicate what is theirs

or separate what is mine, only dividing,

then birthing cold grievances between adversaries

and acquaintances, sometimes even friends.

 

Finding discrepancies in what matters,

some tied and tightly bound

with wire wound strings

till no hope of progress exists

brings failure of even tightly closed fists,

these where no solace is to be found

can foster dark hatred of this life.

 

Waiting for imminent heartbreak

where any future appears ever more grim

has worn down an already sad store of esteem.

Leaving unfulfilled ambition dulled by frequent mistakes

while hopelessness, by hard depression, is invoked.

People’s will to persist too diluted

by stresses too numerous to accurately list.

Satisfaction watered down by unceasing strife,

while arguments for pessimism not so easily refuted,

like aging prostitute’s that have never been kissed,