having to put on a persona
is no way to run a culture
the scent sent south is inheritance foul;
you wonder why more don’t throw in the towel.
what i will or won’t accept
does not change, though my sanity’s left;
a drumroll, please, as fighters approach,
and my past is stuck in my throat.
my dreams nothing but logic tricks
and nightmares nought but flaws that stick;
distraction knows no lapse; it just keeps beating,
and history, displeased, is always repeating.
eternity is just an inside joke,
and we weren’t there when Divinity spoke.