Desire presents to me her boney and faltering hand, gloved in childish joys. I take it wanting to amend my cheerless dreams, but tis for naught for my heart is a vacant chair dusted and weak from years of ill-use. The old and unwashed queen sits alone at her brittle and peckish throne. I kneel before her unholy gaze, which is indifferent as the hermit amoung the crowds.
The orb of day begins its climb. I see only the speck that will cloud my joy. Small and meaningless to others my darkness wanders thru the wickets of my spirit. Yes my dimpled cheek may smile but nothing but her embrace will ever gladen my garden. Rejection dooms me to walk the gallows wrapped in the petty shroud of inconstant affection.
-Johnny V.
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