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Is the pain, deserved?
Or, delectable desserts?
After gut-bursting meals,
of, vain & swallowing, self-pity.

Does it taste, of, verve?
Or, dystopian, Earth?
Are tantalising screams,
atop a tongue, tasting, so, so, pretty?

Do you wish, for, nerve?
Steeled, mettled back, uncurved?
Or, just a chance, to feel?
In an unlit room, at the centre, of the city.

Or, would you, rather, serve?
See war, across, the universe?
The devil’s making, deals,
at every, checkpoint Charlie’ing, committee.

Do you look within?
Or, know, you’re without sin?
At the beginning, of, the end.

Do you even, care, at all?
Considering, just, how small,
our impact, leaves, a dent.

If you started, over,
would, your coldest shoulder,
be there, to meet, plastic, family & friends?

Or would, you, always, make,
those, silly, same mistakes?
The ones, you could, never, comprehend.

So, I’ll ask again, is, the pain deserved?
Or, delectable desserts?
After, meals, of vain & swallowing, self-pity.
The answer, you’ll never find,
and, probably, nevermind,
until, you’re called, to play, your final ditty.

© poormansdreams

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