avoidance

I can't face it straight on. I can only avoid. Maybe in between the lines, the truth can squeeze though. Maybe in the shadows.

To understand the turmoil is to understand the pull of perfection. It was a long time ago when I wrote "Perfection."

I hate hope. Still, I think I believed in hope then, even though in my soul I knew hope as noose and I wrote about it that way in "Taut." I wanted to want hope, to have hope be real and lasting. I wanted a way out. I suppose I still do and always will until I die, finally swallowed within this bottomless abyss. I can only hope it will be over then. How ironic.