Oh, I see

These fears row my boat merrily merrily down a stream of consciousness I can't even finish writing. Thats what I get for abiding by logic and being far too humble to invite congratulations for efforts. What is worse: being the best and watching a fool fall in love with your first heartbreak or knowing it will happen again? Not two entirely separated instances, some would say. And I burn like wood decaying for some reader's pleasure. Sitting, aching in a small space letting my crackling cries carry themselves upwards with the aroma of desparation. Can't scorch it all away. Its innumerable poems later, and I've only barely realized that.