As every cycle begins when it ends,
It's when I'm without that I mostly meet friends,
But I did fine without. I'm affronted by need
(Though I'm loathe to admit it, both real and perceived).
Do I really need others? Is that just my perception?
I pull away to address the idea's whole inception,
Throw myself at my writing, catch myself satisfied,
I'll go back to my friends for fun's welcome surprise.
Once I return, rhythm's there to be found
Which might go on long as the planets go 'round,
Assuming a compatible loyalty,
Which introduces uncertainty, so I try to see
With a spontaneous, desperate, Hail-Mary play
That will leave me quite certain or push them away,
And then, once I'm alone, and they're gone
It's a fair bet the cycle restarts before long.
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