When effectively all people in your immediate social atmosphere take serious your every petty grievance, and hang on your every boring word,

When your strongest argument is limply to tempt the scapegoat of the moment into uttering some transitorily banned aspect of common-sense, in order to quell your own anxiety by cueing up your own regurgitated response which you can safely feel allowed to think and say,

When you, and all those among you, are losing your mind, and blaming it on others,

When you cannot trust yourself, even when everyone to whom you cling agrees with you, yet take pride in the fact that they agree,

When waiting tires you,
and having the truth told about you offends you into reacting with lies,
When another’s mere disagreement assures you of the justice in your hatred,
When you are addicted to looking good and sounding wise,

When dreams are your master,
And thoughts are your aim,
And consequences are either “triumphs” or “disasters” — depending on the opinion of those with even a speck of fame,

When you cannot resist to twist the words others have spoken, to make a trap to distract your favorite fools,
When you can happily watch your team take and break the things to which others have given their lives, and laugh as the victims stoop down to rebuild with worn-out tools:

When you can neither talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Nor walk with royalty and yet keep a common touch,
When foes as well as loving friends annoy you,
But none too much,

Then yours is a dearth of everything of meaning; and, which is worse: You are, at most, a lame, doomed, hyper-socialized mascot.

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