They will never find the open course.
They will never find the clearest sea.
They will write slaughter with the sidewalk chalk
And hate with no remorse.
They will chase away the memory
Of the betrayal, the wound, the shock
While masking their last purity.

“Oh, gorgeous one, you’re lacking,”
They inform each other
As they stare in distorted mirrors.
Living became attacking
And learning how to smother
All their lovers and their peers.

Their lives were risks, doomed chances,
And they gambled all that they had.
Fate favored no one,
And so their circumstances
Went beyond wicked into the sad.
They never lived; they never won
Something worth more force
In the place they could not find.
They never found the purest source,
For though invited, they declined.