Seventy-two months of bright fire,
And all was for nothing.
Even though I knew the outcome,
Then why this strange feeling?
The feeling of being broke and loose,
With fire surrounding me in Arctic
Where I am running without shoes.
Even the Pacific stops her tides to take me in,
As she understood in
Love I get no win
Even the Gita Orator,
couldn’t answer
“To get some love, why is it so tough”
Maybe just because,
I am basically incapable of being loved.
