rarity of victory

winning for me is a rare occurrence,

beginning to think there’s some deterrence,

all i strive for is to have grace and success,

despite my tendency to absorb the mess,

my slightest chance at victory

will be when hell freezes over,

and the sheerest glance at history,

proves the dark spell of my closure,

my life is enamored with misfortune,

my proclivity won’t seem to burgeon,

i long for a subtle conquest

rather than a brutal life test,

i try and i try,

i cry and i cry,

i lie and i lie

and i say that all the loss is fine

when all i want is to cross the line

of triumph, then keep running as fast as i can

to where the deep cunning dissolves into sand

and the devastating rarity

of the absence of austerity

and lack of prosperity,

or others’ sincerity

have nearly

enthralled me

into pure obliteration,

my mistaken deprivation

is unfounded, unsound, and unfair,

yet nobody around seems to care,

my abilities are clear and stark, but

the authorities keep them in the dark,

all i wish is for someone to finally notice,

all i wish is to be the eventual focus.