Musical Chair Moods

Reward the devil…let him know who you are…and you reuse excuses…let him know who you are…

…we wait too long.

Timidly with our eyes on the treeline, stepping lightly for fear of the avalanches poised promisingly overhead.  The offenses are imagined but not impotent, and you’ve no idea on how to fix something that’s not even existent.  As I’ve grown older, there are parts of myself I’ve been forced to accept and others I’ve learned to deny.  What is any of this, anyway, except for a carousel of poisoned perception?  Nothing.  Just musical chair moods, is all.  When will the music stop?  Will it land me someplace nice?  Do I want it to?

Chemically-induced weakness with a preponderence for self-pity.  Not so much a bad habit, I think, and it’s more than a way of life.  A reiteration:  These things aren’t existent.  Therefore, they cannot be fixed.  Hence: No solution to the problem.  Embrace it.  There’s no reason to apologize for myself.  I can apologize for the ramifcations and repercussions, but not for the actual act of being myself.

A drunken, felicitous finding of spontaneous eloquence.  Grandiloquent syntax and a simple buried message unearthed for the populace:

I want the best for everyone.  I want even better for you.  This is a new game I’m playing, and I’m still learning the rules.