Tainted dreams of black and white,
With a corroding sorrow of yellowish hue,

Then I wondered,

Following the footsteps of that fruitless denial,
Disdaining at whatever it was, how-ever it has been,

And I pondered,

About the figure on the hillside top, watching, peering,
Devouring the lust of my shattered instincts,
Forming a river of driven wrath, of hopeless dreams,

Pining over a past that should have been the future,
A scratching present of sided dilemmas,
Of questionable questions about theorized facts,

Will it end, Will it stop?
Yes, it must, it just must...