A Passion That's Passionless

the rations of hope tears me down, wears me down, and scares me down why must i follow the hollow regions in which i dare choose to wallow the enjoyment of the employment is so strangely and mysteriously flamboyant i will never ever pull the lever like i am the poster boy for 'clever' where my heart goes, it plays 'follow the leader' with yours you never know i am watching because you always know i am there reciprocity is like the constipated gymnastics that makes my reflexes feel arthritic there are two raindrops on my coat in the cold, and as a result i die a slow death what must i do to find a clue to dissolve the vapors of this voodoo how must i be to prove to The Main Me that somewhere internally there still exists a zest and some glee why can i not truly conceal the lack that is always off track in a sooty veil of pitch basic black it must be because the pause that life insinuates always seems to have that inevitable hidden clause....