Birthright

I had been awarded a terminal providence, 

the boon of apathy, to the rudest of comments or the proudest declarations of love-

they all fail to serve a sense of purpose to my heart resembling the moon, forever capable of only shining borrowed light to the glistening glass of Sun-rays and the magnificent sparks of their golden hearts.

Oftentimes though, it lights a tiny flame of envy to the forlorn, the quaint and the forgotten, yet it doesn’t fail to notice the cold smirks of the achiever’s at a distant height, those who graffiti their lives with euphoria, 

Even still, what’s the difference in all that to a bitch high on symbolic opioids?

Therefore my life consists of a facade of delivering false alarms and moving my hand to the beat of someone else’s heart.

Therefore I vow to serve the purpose of not just borrowing light of the pitiful apparent friendships, but to reflect the sequins to any vipers dressed in the shades of midnight.

It isn’t anyone’s plan to be the moon, to give all the earned light to anyone new, yet it led to be some of ours birthright.