because I believe in love/ and its technicalities
I no longer question the rat race
and as I outrun/ the fastest of slaves/ I solemnly condone/ my loss
turning the key/ that makes it all happen
I seem to enjoy/ my predetermined path/ towards
the successful accomplishment/ of nothing
I always panic/ as I contemplate failure/ definitely
not healthy/ definitely not comfortable/ and this is the
impulse/ that triggers/ the schizoid mechanics/ of my
becoming/ what are you, my love, in this alignment
of trophies? where does it end? is your touch/ worth
this display/ of a heartless body?