There is no if about it,
because with all honesty,
neither could he, slick,
but I’ll definitely bet your week’s allowance,
that you can lie almost as well,
just a little bit more practice,
and you might even overtake him.
Extensions don’t really matter anyway,
have your answers flow like a savage river,
since we both understand it’s actually full of mud,
drifting fiercely through unknown hazards,
bent on dragging below those who try,
whether out of ignorance or daring,
it becomes an awesome equalizer for everyone.
Desperately scrawl your mangled thoughts,
across paper and canvas while you may,
sell it atop a crass auction as a generous option,
reflecting the holy stars in your humble eyes,
paid off by poor self-esteemed serious players,
kissing your weary painted face and hand,
before these golden tickets in your pocket curl.
Forget the colors and let’s concentrate on your words,
at last we won’t remember those empty tones,
yet sentences are quite masterful when you care enough,
forcing a miss of common branches in normal routines,
eventually falling hard much beyond that delicious banana tree,
keeping you far too occupied around a million blue moons,
in a clever pretense crudely labeled as mere survival.
Sharwrong's Song 