Only pretence can benefit me now;

the denial of my menacing future

allows my chest to rise and fall.

Without this charade, my mind

would be trapped in the web

of perilous thoughts that won’t

permit me to function unerring.

But it’s the malfunctions that

brought me here, to this reality;

playing pretend won’t debug

the code that I executed and

poetry won’t change the fact

that I am my own programmer

that failed to render commands.

And there I go again, blinded

by my past follies, consumed by

want of restart or rewind buttons

that I forget the futility of it all.

Refusal to acknowledge most

of this unsightly machination,

helps me stay autonomous

and mobile, it hinders me

from drowning in the lake

of my own culpability and

destroying my motherboard.

 

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