Thought you'd be the cynosure of this story
The protagonist, given all the glory
Instead you felt merely equal
To an extra in an unwatched sequel.


Imagined it to be Cinematic & song-like
Eons before that killjoy took the mic
Now certain sensations that you come by
engenders the exhale, of a melancholic sigh


Contrary to the rhapsody, in your mind
life is left indefinite & undefined
Until the mayhem ends in dysphoria
to the fool who long- awaited euphoria.


Are you a believer or sycophant to god?
-intentions of fulfilling desires, rather odd
So comes the unsolicited truth; the kalopsia
That triggers the many nights of insomnia