The Primetime of a Teller’s Vision

By: Uriah “The CivILLian” Walters; The Escribe Adventurist

So long as our stride is tucked
within the casings of limp egos
pierced by the critique of Pinoccio noses
Leaking the blood of a once healthy morale
With no novel incisions to resuscitate its
Now pathetically pretentious build
Nothing will ever change

I know we asked for this last week
But if we could just have 30 more minutes
Just 30 minutes
We could explain to you ourselves
Our plans of conquering the woes of a (recycled alloted) time
where everything was Prime

The glamour of our mishaps, we despise
And out of spite, we repackaged them
Dressed them up to fit any style
entertain any bored face
And nothing changed

We were still the same hollowed out puppets
Drowning out crickets with unwarranted encores
Dressed down in spoiled flower-collared tuxedos
Reciting the famous lines of our bland scripts

I will I will I will
I am I am I am
But nothing changes

We did however feel renewed with each seasoned resolution
We made speeches and declarations once again

Awaiting the signal to act when the nothing is changed

But when will the nothing change?


About ninty15

(to be expanded upon)
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