An unfinished poem from a part of my life which I don't want to remember. They say unfinished work tends to have beauty that cant be found in many 'complete works'.
Accustomed to failure,
I've made it a part of my life.
The winning streak is like the horizon,
it seems to exist without an existence
What's the point in being straightforward
when everybody eventually reaches oblivion
Accustomed to failure,
I've made it a part of my life.
The winning streak is like the horizon,
it seems to exist without an existence
What's the point in being straightforward
when everybody eventually reaches oblivion
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