Consecutive digits and remarkably distanced gas bubbles
Couldn't make wishes strong enough for this trouble.
As I constantly fidget to fix this different type of problem,
The instance I finish wishing for pointless progress
Is the instant loss of my gratification towards a promise.
I kept it near and she always feared
What lingered in my stratosphere;
Not clear what I want when I look in the mirror,
But her satisfaction has made it simple.
So I pack my bags and check the the time,
Cut the twine with what was mine,
And face the sky and wish for a reason or rhyme,
As I make my way through this bitter rite.
