Halcyon

last laugh

my man always told me
that everyone can laugh —
but i must have
the last laugh in life.
that motto lodged itself
deep in my raven, opaque soul,
and all i did ever since
was chase that hollow goal.

but when i thought i'd won the battle,
destiny drafted a new conspiracy,
and suddenly, i was losing the war,
with not a single tower left to hold.
my crown was made of tinfoil dreams,
i collected trophies for empty shelves,
my gold rusted on the inside,
while others' bronze turned to sheen.

my triumphs were too small
to even fill the silence.
all that glitters isn't gold —
and god, it's true.
one moment i climb the ladder,
and when i reach the top,
i realise it leans on the wrong wall.

i've become the best
at surviving the wrong race.
i keep collecting victories
that don't know my face.
give me a prize for surviving a life
that even confetti's too tired to fall for.
and when i sip from the glass of success,
it tastes like dust and deja vu.

i wear my paper crown with scanty pride —
a false dawn, a hollow victory.
life gave me the reverse midas touch;
everything i love turns ordinary.
i'm the exception that disproves the rule,
always the bridesmaid, never the bride,
a medal that clinks too loud for my pride.

the last of the summer wine
was left out in the cold.
it looked brave, until i was told
that i'm a blitheful sight to behold.
how does a star-crossed fate unfold?

my lottery tickets win me pennies,
and i finish fourth,
fit only for a consolation prize.
fools will say it's still a prize —
but the third time was never my charm.

my success is fluent in silence.
i look in the mirror
and see the blackest sheep.
perhaps that's why i couldn't keep
my man's motto close to sleep —
the last laugh isn't mine to keep.