A year br of futility br I am anchored down br by the inertia br of inadequacy – br there is always someone br better br br I feel death br take a piece of me, br month by month, br reducing my hills br into incarcerating chasms br br Your hope can save me br your seraphic wings br can enthuse the luckless wind br but I would not listen br to your celestial white lies br anymore br br I remain here, unmoved br decaying and receding br growing the potent hope br planted inside me br like a bomb to fulminate br in your complacencebr br Norman Santosbr br