Reckless love, that once was;
A figment of imagination, bucketfuls
Of excitement and thrill, dwindled
In the ocean of my mind.
Reckless love, that lost itself;
A foreboding thought, starting
The extinguishment of my fire, now
Limiting itself to smoke.
Reckless love, that need for more;
A fictitious tale of suspense, trails
My lamentful skull, irrationally
Blending into the blinding light.
Reckless love, that future untold;
A deadly dance with my subconscious,
That attacks me at every turn.
“What is bound to become of life?”
My reckless philosopher asks, but nought
Does he traverse through realistic plains;
A sign of grief, forevermore.
idiot's story 