Singular

Singular

Stung yet again by the fizzle of the skillet,
I compose myself and attack the beast once more.
No amount of burns will make me yield
As I intend to even the score;
A game of high expectations gone unfulfilled
Four quarters of risks and reward,
The season is short while I try to stand tall
And wonder whether the competition has made me bored.

For far too long I’ve done too little,
But the acceptance of the blame is mine,
To shred myself of this self-inflicted guilt
Would just take too much of my time.
Why waste moments thinking of all that’s wrong
While new moments are passing me by?
How can I be so apathetic and count myself out
If I don’t give new opportunities a try?

This world is fast and fleeting and vast
An over-capacity market with too much to fill,
So why he or she and why not me,
I want to feel the thrill of the kill.
That position belongs to me,
The second fiddle is mine no more
All I can say is that the dawn of a new day
Will begin once I open that door.

So come all ye peasants and fight for the shroud
Of glory with every imaginable breath,
I will come in and say, “I did it my way”
And then die a reasonable death.

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