Breathe to expel the thoughts:
toxic, all consuming.
The mind-shorn simulacra
of nightmare fuel and futility.
For days when mirrors are the enemy
and folly finds its way into everything.
Fated to fail again at each new turn—
The Sisyphus conundrum of lessons
never learned.
In the Elysium of retrospection
the flaws are readily apparent.
The oil slick impossibility of perfection
taunts each new stumble
with humility—
the price of progression.
