Choice is a Luxury

Seahorse memories
flood the ocean floor
on this, the day,
you died of depression.

Some say you
had a choice
like if you wanted
fries with that,
or not.

Choice is a luxury of the sane.

You no more chose this
than your blue eyes.

Nature is an ass-biting bitch,
and powerful,
especially over a mind
that has left;

a “not in their right mind”
kind of mind.

You didn’t do anything.
This happened to you,
but you know all of this already,
don’t you?

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