Eleven Eleven

What are wishes? Are they luxuries of the imagination?
Are they mere aspirations and hopes that things will turn out how we want them to be?

Things should always get worse before they get better, right?
But do we only wish when all else fails and If so are they considered sustenance for ones sanity?

Do they tax the soul too heavily when they do not manifest themselves?
Or do we not know they became a reality because were living a lifestyle lavishly adorned by ones fallacies?

Vanity slaves plagued by lust
Wanting it all but, a little is worth more than a whole lot of nothing,

And I will never throw coins into a wishing well,
Even in the eleventh hour, when despair kicks in and no matter what I do what we had fails
And I ask why?
Let this be a testament to the power of will.

Rationality trumps all and emotions are just motions of an intangible substance that reminds us our hearts still there,
Pain,
But so is blood, so is air so are the muscles that yearn for your embrace,
But at the end of it all, we both know you will not be here.

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