So let me wonder:
Is the love I
demonstrate to a
pained level
the result of
my surroundings?
Is everything I
have come to believe
a result of
hanging about with
what I'm unsure of?
Is my very view
on attraction anything
more than innumerable
hormones being received
in different volumes?
Is my fear of
an untimely death
little more than
desiring to be
remembered?
Is there any chance
of being a
husband and parent
when I don't know how
to care for myself?
And is there
substantial reason
to keep trying
for the sunset when
we all know
the night will come?
