chocolate over vanilla

I play the game
a million times.
I choose
black over red,
gills over wings,
clubs over spades,
sense over sex,
or otherwise.
Whichever path I take,
whatever excuse I make,
I end up doing the same shit
over and over and over again.
 
I stare at the same skies
and bathe under the same starlight
across all the universes.
I smell the same flowers,
play the same cards,
I holler through the same hallways,
sleep through the same rollercoaster rides
and scenic drives,
I dab the same vapors
and dabble with the same odds,
I jump into the same valleys,
float over the same fog,
I fool around
with the same friends
around the same streetcorners,
I fuck around
with the same chances
in all constructs and deconstructs.
 
I play the game
a million times,
same code, different skins.
 
The gods
laugh at our drama
and our petty troubles.
They stoop
and whisper to the winds:
Choice is an illusion.
The game is fixed
and the dice are loaded.
 
We’re told:
The fallen hero
rolls the boulder uphill
to witness another glorious sunset.