In the end, we may be unable to escape it, success is also a sort of hell, stuck, plucked and placed above, unable to ripple or squirm, forced to accept it, it’s what you always wanted, why would you want to escape it, humanity and our ever-yearning hearts, Hotel California, you can check in, but never leave, the fruit's skin is pierced, doomed to stop growing, a fruit your father ate, to be consumed by him, so dreadful, stuck in this life, left to process eternity, again and again, lingering in limbo, with no way out, like these poems, the most I'll ever have, is dreams, and the peace I can find under the moonlight, I can scream, but no one would care to listen, vampires and the undead, how the cookie crumbled, the heavens saw it and they said it was good, while we’re left to just live with it, if this lake ripples, and reality was different, nailed to a cross, to be pierced, over and over again, I may be okay with it, this existence, can Jesus save us from it, your mother watches, may she forgive us...

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