Someone said that it’s my fault the word is a mess
And that I’m the one who’s been sucking up air
With my head held up high in a narcissist cloud
And with all in my age group fat, happy and proud.
With no thought of tomorrow, we live without care
As we trickle down deep concern to all the rest?
I’ll consider that verdict and treat it as such.
It seems I’m a tall tower of guilt anyway
By the theory I’ve chosen my home upon earth
To stir up much mayhem beginning at birth.
I have lived a good life and don’t have much to say
About others around, so I’m cold to the touch?
Our perceptions are many; I’ve said this before.
It’s a pleasure to catch them and put them to words.
I take comfort in my choosing not going there.
I heed spirit’s clear warning, “Dear writer, beware!”
I’ve no will to defend myself; that’s for the birds.
Way before our departure, we’ll even the score.