Don’t feel bad

For the chaos;

They sent you as sacrifice—

With ambition and a pack of floss.

Mourn not, mourn not, young lady—

At what they’ve done;

Their calloused fingers no longer move;

They made you shoot their wretched gun.

And if you fail, then fail;

All for the learning.

You learn whose fingers calloused;

You learn whose insanity is burning;

You begin to face your own face—

And see for who,

Or for what

You’re still yearning.

A lawyer in a den of thieves;

No one survives such things as these;

They transform.

And may it be

All for the better.