The steps are built from failure.
Brick walls constructed of sin.
Railings forged hot in regret,
all designed to keep me in.
The top, it seems, will never come
and my legs drag, weary and slow.
What even awaits me at the end,
don't think I could bear to know.
Tall, thin windows set each scene,
glowing with what I could have been.
Perhaps one day I'll escape through one,
but I keep climbing until then.












22 old applause
