Insanity

You sit out the days and nights in a room of metal bars
trying to convince the world that they are the ones in prison
while the strychnine and syrup pools on your liars tongue 
the music rises and you elbow your way to the center spotlight determined
to claim it 
but there is one already waiting
one who owns this time
this performance
and if you dance with the devil don’t expect him to play fair 
because you are his favorite guest
an easy conquering 
a mere take out order
as you choose to let him lead
ignoring the pricking of your thumbs and turning another blind eye
the definition of this insanity is to expect a different outcome
but the only ties you long to keep are the ones holding this monkey to your back
as you take your bows in that spotlight and wait
hungry
 for the next performance
same dance
same music
never noticing the clanging
as time rusts those metal bars shut
while you peer out 
still insanely convinced you are on the winning side
still chillingly convinced you are the winner

@jayetomas2014

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About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. Not.....me. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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