What comes around goes around,
The TV told me that,
My actions resented that,
But consequences enjoy misery.
Though I find it peculiar,
The defining characteristic between reward and consequence,
Is whether or not I’m happy.
As I write my penmanship becomes sloppy,
Each line harder to decipher.
I should turn my music down,
My neighbors may cry from its beauty: each tear a thank you.
Each muttered hiccup they mumble behind my back,
Will be my compensation and their pride on the line.

Deep below a casket, beyond the chemical ridden corpses,
Lays dreams of an afterlife.
Lays times and memories that fall between 1912-2000.
Lays war and oppression and the fear of the color red,
What has changed? What can we grasp from bombshells and surgeon generals?
All that has changed is now we fear all of ROY G’ BIV herself.
The TV told me that.
My mother resented that.
I’ll suffer the consequences later.