With a whirlpool of intentions and a focus greatly skewed

My declaration of disdain with my voice has this imbued:

Having ****** into the chaos of a modern need for thriving

With a trust that all my actions give me credit for surviving

Don't ask me for my progress, as I doubt you want to hear it

You've picked out your priority, yet contention makes you fear it

Bursted bubbles of illusion gave you free fall to the curse

of scatter plots for your design as you could only make it worse

Pick apart and yes unravel every thought you've come across

Shifted eyes upon the prize has darted off and at a loss

Identity has forced my hand to cry out for the masses

But contrivances you understand are killing off our chances

Everyone is sure and no one seems to quite grasp the fact

That catharsis marks a farce as art and we're all caught up in the act

Set the stage, turn the page, start from the top, we know it's crucial

Knowing meaning is a feeling, but the feeling it seems is mutual