so long.
too long maybe.
it's exhausting. you stare
at your worn
hands, your dwindling desire.
the money wasted.
the time.
the words, the effort.
you've been sifting gold
on your knees,
dipping the pan into
a cold dead stream.
thinking that there has
to be one good heart out
there, one true soul.
but no. you've been
going through one nugget
of fool's gold after another.
the mountain is empty.
all the good ones have
been taken. time to pack it
in and go home.
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