Her hair: intertwined with mine like fine lines in disguised pines.
Our lives: making life like lovers do - letting our mistakes live to let ourselves.
Who's who in this zoo built for two?
Will I find time to find the kind of mind that pries at mine despite the time I've formalized into time I can't divide?
I try to meet ends with the women that I meet, really never knowing me - like a fish without a sea and falling bird without a breeze - easily bequeathed with ways to satisfy and please.
I evaluate the fragile and get diagnosed a cynic.
I empathize with strength but get too into it to win it.
I believe that I am different for the sake of being different but if everybody's different, then everybody isn't.
I feel it is my life, and it's none of my fucking business.
I hope it's not malignant.
Hope less, romantic.