My Life Alert is broken, or out of batteries, and I’ve fallen to the floor;
The guest of honor’s choking, and every one’s applauding;
The TV chatters, the room spins, voices echo, and psychic bedlam ensues––
The wolves of self have found me––And so have the Demons, of course––
Because the only signs we ever followed were signs that gave us no options––
And the only things we ever believed in were dreams inside a dream.
All of us––We are all but broken fools––Born in utter perfection––
Though only so to be destroyed by the entropy of quanta’s wrath.
Why even try? The universe is not amused.