things go the way I need them to – not how I want it; personal gain isn’t what I want to pursue.
everyday I will reveal something – something new; they’re aren’t any old things I think I want to do.
it doesn’t appease me anymore, I need substance; something with a core.
going down a turnpike with people watching sideline – throwing out strips of spikes.
it’s good though, and it’s fine.
I’m still going to win and receive what’s mine.
it’s out of your sight; but it was made up in my mind.
Europa's Space Of Poetry 
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