A calculated reflex
in case of emergency.
Just a way to stack the decks
so nobody can see
the weakness hidden just below
the surface of my shell,
behind the curtain of the show
I can't bring myself to tell.

The higher I climb, the deeper I fall.
Doing whatever I can just to stall
the inevitable realization that I'm lost
behind some imaginary line that I've crossed.
No rescue in sight, no plan of attack.
Hoping against hope that I'll find my way back.
Biding and wasting my time until then
and wondering how this could have happened again.

Its withered, folded pages
tell the story of a story
that's been told a thousand times.
Yet each time,
with every new detail discovered,
every character nuance now understood,
the story is reborn
and the old pages, once faded and worn,
come alive, anew,
to tell their story once more
as if never before.

Exceeding capacity, ready to break.
Exaggerated desire my only mistake.
Overwhelmed by sensation, my self-control lost.
Overzealous consumption; now counting the cost.
In time this discomfort will all fade away,
instigating another ravenous display.
Until then I'll ponder this wanton concern.
Unfortunately, I'll probably still never learn.

Just a few simple words
carefully arranged.
Set in stone for now,
but inevitably changed.
A pointless explanation
of personal insight,
a vain attempt to justify
what I already know is right.
Embellishing the commonplace
until it seems sublime,
or could it be nothing more
than just a dreadful waste of time.

It isn't quite ideal,
this living in reverse.
In fact it's quite surreal
and just a bit perverse.
Rotating counter-clockwise,
never quite catching the sun.
By the time the day is over,
it's only just begun.

Caffeinated conversation,
hyperbolic tales of woe.
With plaintive resignation:
"there's just nowhere else to go".
Dollar after hour spent
on grease and grand designs,
wondering where the time went
and reading too much between the lines.