what am i doing with my life?
whispering to myself all these lies,
justifying all my withheld tithes.
see not this pandemic that runs rife?
just another confused youth
time after time, ‘i don’t have time’.
forced into a rush, all i do is whine.
rebuffing concerns, i declare ‘i’m fine’.
i had no right, the fault was mine.
just another incorrigible sloth.
dancing through calamity in pure bliss,
completely oblivious to the serpent’s hiss.
perhaps it’s time i come to confess:
wholly foolish; and wholly careless.
just another play-pretend sleuth.
yet logic reasons to me,
and the path is plain to see.
giddily, i shudder with mirth;
this pained comedy of the mind’s labyrinth,
its vain portrayal of a polymath.
maybe just maybe.
i’m just another sociopath.