One room of three hundred;
music playing,
hallway quiet.
Normal, like any other.
I know I'm not extraordinary,
do my actions show that?
One chance added to the burden of promises,
arms scarred,
legs restless.
Almost begging others for more.
Is that honestly the motive, the reason,
if no-one knows and never will?
One destiny for one simple being.
Possibilities infinite.
Decisions everywhere.
What every person has,
don't they?