The Pool of Resources

All implications and devastations. All crossroads dreaming unto the next oblivion. All Saturday nights and Sunday mornings. I'm not supposed to live, just an automatic feeling because no one makes anything out of anyone. A future made in love, it's what you always dreamed of. Cold, cruel world but the things never make much sense. Procession, recession, progression. Cut back, until the feelings end. Until the damage is done. Until the pool of resources can take no more. Until the pool of resources can take no more. And the sense of worth is not all up to that.