Ergo I might fall for some stupidity or another.
How my mind works to fool me into fantasy,
imagining what could have been, but isn’t.
Pretending for the sake of verse.
I feel it and think it’s real.
It’s not! It never was.
Well, maybe somewhat…
But… but… but…
Like a toy the child once
played with for a moment, I was.
I was the toy. He was the toy.
Games, games, games!
Am I not too old for this?
mind games I play all alone
to convince myself of my value.
And the worst part of it all?
This isn’t even a good poem!!