Misty Madness

Fingers snapped,

a million chandeliers,

flew to the floor,

a black marble, stoic sea.

Then, splashing,

beautiful shards,

like a hand of cards,

sometimes you win,

and sometimes…

you play again,

and again,

and again...

until maybe you’re broke,

or bitter, or both.

Is it not enjoyable to pretend?

Tending to power isn’t easy,

which leads to the need to rest.

A test of sleep, that never fell fast.

Eyelids, half mast,

on the ship,

of misty madness.

Sailing through trippy dreams,

and thunderstorms,

and faulty social norms.