Compelled by Hindsight

Yeah, fuck it

All your wiles and painted plaster had finally fell from form

The time you whiled was bathed in laughter. The sunlight, bright and warm

And though you prayed the dark move faster, the day lasts just as long

The yarn once lit has closed its chapter and now, you sing night's song

The pain and regret and slow disdain. Every thought that you cannot dismiss

Each time you escape one banal babushka cage, you see the vessel in which it sits

Why do you think you deserve this? When did your ego grow?

The grin you wear seems awful churlish. Your outfits, just as so

Self-puppeted marionette plays poet, director and whole damn cast