Focused, desirably so
He just must know what it might take
Many an over-enthused celebration rather gladly forsaken, to place his soliloquy heart upon his sleeve – we’ve been watching, pondering a thing or ten
When does his time start to make all kinds of sense again…
This steaming hot coffee and evil cigarette his constant vice, up all of the night, attempting to amount to what’s relatively heaven-sent
Longing to quench the flaming inner-workings of his brain, in one manner at least, to maybe tame the under-established part, the piece that takes it entirely upon itself to bewitch the heart – stop-start, stop-start
A feast will do and never a famine, please
Shall he make the all too telling difference in the end, or just become one in a long line of rather agonised also-rans?
He ain’t so handsome anymore, owing to excruciating time and reliance upon precision, his final gut-wrenching decision
I do think you’ll find these people to be the very same ones who can, and will, lose their minds, notoriously fail to unearth a way

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