[PancakeBrah]

Hamlet.

Nothing to see. He had ample neurosis.
He shuffled his feet and sampled the dosage,
holding a picked apart bouquet. A stranger, emoting
with unrequited handfuls of roses, hydrangeas and posies,
as they started to fray. Neither staying or going.
Brown haired and bland. Staid. Laid in a stasis, no motion.
Filling out forms. Faceless. Interesting, but boring.
Lame tasteless prude. With the same face as you,
Refined, but gaudy. 21st century snoring zombie.
A walking grey, beige, and blue origami.
Surfing the same site, just refreshing the page
all night. F5 worn out, each tap repressing a rage
until the next session of 'Day'. Porned out.
Picking between Gianna or 'Gauge: Sex in a Cage"
Between Jack or Jameson. Lessons, or daze.
Pappy Mason in plaid, minus success and vision,
charisma and pay. Picking contacts to text,
and eventually leaving 'Send' unpressed.
An imprint without impression. Joy Division.
Confidently guessing, with no decision.
He's just there. A voided prism.
A Religious man, with no soul within him.
A waste of potential, but not.
Every choice avoided, suspended and stopped,
on his death bed where every breath is a cough
to no audience. His little equity bereft
speaking his last words,
"Maybe next time, I'll make a right instead of a left"