I’ve scrutinized every variable,
Every conceivable possibility of this earthly existence.
Every movement, every word,
Every decision and request placed above the aperture,
And the outcome is always regret.
Is it our nature to clutch at straws
For the unattainable paragon of being
We dare not even define?
How many stints in infinity would I require
To be whole and content at once
And, in some alternate chronology,
Lie on my deathbed unrepentant,
Willing to bow out at last?
Or would I loop back into existence,
Delusional and rabid,
Hooked on gambling it all away
For another stab at something more?
The right way to live can only be taught by the dead.
Hindsight is power reserved only for the wasted
And youth is squandered on the young.