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.