Living on Rotted Dry Dock

Woke up this morning as usual to the sound of dead silence

Nothing but an atomically miniscule pin dropping

Noise almost as deafening as a gun shot

A starting pistol ready to usher in a new rat race

Contest to see who can grab onto their diamond shaped future

Sparkly on the inside when a jeweler gets a sneak peek

While the outside shows more war torn damage

Than intended to the naked expert eye

Everything apparent and nothing fixed

Trying to not think about the agonizing failure of empty trinkets

Of diamonds, gold, and ruby styled pyramid schemes

Nothing to fall back on when the house of cards sprays the ground

Which you'll want to be buried under with a rock subbing as a bookmark

For all the mislaid plans you strewn all over your personal beach

Like misplaced sea shells and a crooked sand castle

Built with a weak foundation crumbling under the weight of a riptide

Once the damage is done, needing to find a way back to civilization

Which way is worth the expensive risk of another humiliation is unknown

Don't care what the costs are anymore because what's the point

Of caring when it all goes downhill anyways

Decide on the path of the least apathetically possible

A scenic route trip through Vegas and every other sinful locale

Before landing back in the promised land where everything is sturdy

At least enough to last through a current going at half speed

Just in case pack accordingly for all of life's riptides

You'll be better off for it.