I am at fault.
My many successes have spoiled me.
They have caused me to spend precious seconds
gleaming at my own reflection.
Time better spent at the base of mountains.
Hands thrusted into the very earth.
Hands clicking continuously.
If it wasn't for the sounds of the clock
I would have believed I've again wasted precious seconds.
Yet I keep my eyes fixed on the ground before me.
I need only proof.
For the times I have failed.
For the few I have failed you.
I need this.
Misguided many have called me.
To them I forewarn the coming of a photograph.
I break to breathe and band my bruises.
Bending truths who's blared horns
blanked slates.
Clean and dry but no more.
I had reasons to lie.
And now have purpose.
Love.
Poignant and Impressioned.
Just a little longer now.
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