I’ve gone and done it yet again.
I’ve lost my focus, lost my star.
In chasing blinking tail-lights, lost
The reason why I’m looking far.

I started with a simple truth:
I want my space and time to write.
And somehow I have bartered both
For less than what I’ve lost inside.

At least, I still have inky nails.
At least, the coffee cup to cope.
For all the shouting, fighting, lies,
At least, I’m dangling from a hope.

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