Self-awareness isn’t always gravy, baby.
It offends and injures the trait inside me.
Until I am forced to observe it honestly.
Then descends the voices of reason…
Vultures from within.
Well, damn, maybe this is just who I am.
A cookie monster. A goodie goblin…
a puppet in the hand of some unseen master.
Incapable of operating without strings, sentient being?
Pfff who am I kidding… there’s no master of destiny within me…
Doubt is decaying, a rotten thing.
Leaving little substance as it takes.
Rendering fellow occupants unable to imagine,
Outside of what has been.
So Instead, I dance on the fence for a sixpence.
you can have these. I think.
Tossing them into the ocean beneath.