Chaotic consciousness
Spun into reflections
Blaming god for all our shortcomings and indiscretions.
Grumbling nonsense about
What could have been, what might be.
Easy to belt the song,
"I'm better than he"
When we go round and round
The music masked in screeching sound,
Pictures spinning on the overhead screen, projected
To have the best of us end up
On the editing room floor,
Neglected.
Rejected.
Charisma won't count, towards the crouching tiger
Silently awaiting a meeting with the wiser.
A fighter, in the war on demise,
Staying afloat, as the floods arise.
Yours, ours, whatever our determination
The script is up, for any adaptation.
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