Irony

Seated on hands
To control wringing
Stress’s overt spill

No Pilate
I bear my cross
Recriminations ready

Judases mend fences
I seek no needles, hemlock
Is an acquired taste

Surfeit of placebos
Hollow assurances
Case of buttered bread

Neither bottom feeder
Nor shallow swimmer
I go with the tide

At end of day
Have no regrets
My head remains high

~

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