Can the hell I’ve created be worse than the one
In the service of Satan? Is my world the same
As the one that I’m meant for, if it does exist?
If indeed I am not there, am I sorely missed?
My unnatural acting has caused me much shame.
Terrified of the tango, I feel it’s begun.

My true self is the partner who wears a disguise
To prevent me from knowing from where lessons come.
Knowing whence they came leads to the easy way out
Of experience needed. While flailing about
On the dance floor of life, I know not where I’m from,
Which, to my knowing partner, is not a surprise.

This is all about feeling the best that I can
Through the world of confusion and eminent doom.
Interaction consensual cannot dissolve.
The exchange of emotion can only evolve
To a worthy performance inside the ballroom.
Guidance comes through my partner. I don’t have to plan.

Chronic is such a topic as personal pain,
But I feel it’s my duty to get it all down
Where the whole world can see it and be entertained
Or enlightened. My purpose will have been attained
In the long run. I can’t dance while wearing a frown.
If I get myself through this, there’s so much to gain.