the cynic burns in dank doubt
and mistrusts every motivation and coincidence
terrible and beautiful
I see the possibilities and shudder
without anticipation
I can't let myself try
because I might fail or rather
think I did well, be proud, prove
I can't judge quality
freeze the frozen hypocrite
Proud without reason and not satisfied
Helpless to be helped and easy to knock down
Can't be pushed
Nothing to count on, no base unit
except I think I love, but maybe I just
want to and I can't trust anything
manipulation, controlled by the weather
but it's not like I have a purpose anyway
don't want to go to sleep or I'll miss the sunset
and the sun rise
and I won't know it has been broken.