Time laughs

as I sit and scroll,

reading what I’ve written

a dozen times already.

It’s good, too good.

(It’s probably crap.)

So I’ll stare at this image,

my attempt at photography,

and contemplate some sort of meaning.

What does it mean?

Nothing. It means nothing.

The rear “Warrior Horse” design looks great,

that’s what I get for liking pretty things.

And the Joker, who’s the Joker?

I’m the Joker. Tossed out, by my own doing.

No one really wants it or likes it. The Joker was only made cool

because of Heath.

(He, The Joker, was great before Heath and he’ll be great after him, except for Jared Leto’s version.)

Out of the entire deck I pick these two cards, I like the “deck” stacked against me.

This mindless rant is making me hate myself, but

the show must go on.

Like the “Warrior Horse” I’ll live to see another day.

Time to play the hand I was dealt.

Time to write what must be written.