The weight of the world is substantial
and displayed in the showcase
of my bosom.
Spilling themselves across
a myriad of platforms,
mostly the body in which they have formed,
my tears have yet to find solace in emanating.
Insufferable debacles in the battles
of love versus lust,
deception warring trust,
what’s fair or what’s unjust;
making myself the subject of both betrayal and fidelity.
It is only in the instance of existence or
obliteration, barring the urgency of each matter,
that it can be decided.
Where do I go from here?