Fraught in a skein of a driftless existence,

Life’s demarcations stand out like a mushroom on a suburban lawn

Very troubling are the state of these negative tendencies,

A grease stain applied to the floor of the condemned asylum dubbed the skull

Reevaluating a belief system deemed delusional,

Visiting the former reality only to reflect upon what was considered the good moments

The era of being a personal bummer has commenced,

Imaginary trumpets and brass section cheer him on

Marginalized as a flinching character carrying a short shelf life,

Transformed into a brand which is rather bland

Emotionally wounded, needing a fresh acumen to accept as true,

Only then will the rudderless compass speak his language once again