The mist was deceptive,
Just as the illusion of her that I
Had gotten used to loving,
Fortunately or otherwise.
All that I had imagined to be mine
Was now a mockery of me,
Nothing else, nothing more;
Hence, nothing of good use…
I wonder if things have ‘bad uses’ too!?
And if such a term does care to exist,
It’s been a lifetime of bad uses, I persist
Didn’t you see what became
of the previous bucket list!
Running out of the shower naked,
No eureka moment, but as if electrocuted:
Shame is shamed, not purified,
In the face of a neurosis, denied.
And thus I find no viable excuse
To a lifetime of all that bad use!