Sequestered hominid,
a temporary waning of saturation
a flurry of cigarettes and hot words
a tangle just around the core
as my world struggles to straddle
its wobbling gyroscope.

I've got a
Chip on my shoulder

But relentless peaks draw up the sallow vestiges of pride
As the ego tolls again and again
I am happy with what I am
Yet I feel forced to "survive"

Looking back at who I was
Speaks volumes for our culture
The sequestered hominid rotates hues, asleep
He dreams
Of painting his image into history