I am still here, Where all the edges fray. I must enjoy this, even so. The Losing Game, and the kid Currency it's so easy to hoard. The tips of the day crumble, Deaf to cries or tepid sighs. Night, well, it comes on too hard And leaves too quietly. All I have are alternating shadows To remember these friends, Lovers and family by. Only my own guilt never falters. Though I am spinning The minutes to my own choosing, I will never choose to my own desire. My arms, for all their scars, Will never be bandaged. Build me a bridge, and I will undoubtedly swim. I am Sysyphus, reborn again.