Drooping Like A Defeated Flower

I'm tired of murderous malls, blood-stained nightclubs and drug and violence-addled bars, weary of the elementary schools of child abuse and the marriages of endless domestic disputes; I'd like to bestow my reality with life-affirming sunlight and virginal dawns. I'd like to discover the mysterious aspects behind the eyes of my own beliefs, share a kindness with myself and a greater kindness with somebody else, I'd like to turn my midnight dreams into fantastic blueprints for far-flung schemes. I want to meet a girl at a rainy bus stop with her head drooping like a defeated flower sinking into absorbing burial mud and tell her her untapped potential is Eiffel-Tower-immense and skyscraper-like if she could only give herself a second glance with resurrected eyes. I know there is a provocative rage that can destroy every shackle and cage of self-imposed exile and spiritual denial; I know there is only life in complexities and contradictions, in nurturing the healthy addictions of curiosity and self-awareness.