Is there anything worth fighting for

or is it all in jest?

The microphone, the pleasure box

his head hangs to his chest,

his eyes are wide closed shut for now

it’s time to take his rest

but rest assure he knows that peace

only will come through death.

The world feels like a fishbowl

swimming circles go the days.

His mind is like a race car

stalled out lost within the haze

now everyone’s a martyr, noble

women walk the maze

an endless stream of consciousness

feels like a forced parade.

The cards left in the shuffle are to blame.

The Queen of Hearts is silent in this game.

If one love is the message how come

fear’s your favorite word?

Fingers sharp as daggers pointing

only to be heard

They congregate, both sides of hate

knowing not who they serve

it’s hard enough to be born human

it’s even harder premature.

The dealer’s diamond hands you blame

is why the Joker wins this game.