You are not who you are.
You are a series of mistakes going forward in time.
I can say this with certainty.
I can. You don’t even rhyme.
You have been mistaken by the cheers;
You calculated badly during the applause.
The rush to fill a vacuum isn’t for you—
It’s the lack of one taking the place of other laws.
Your passion has not triumphed in this hour.
This is someone else’s blood, someone else’s breath,
Surging helplessly through you.
Your mistake will be dire, even to its death.
You will be grieved, not blamed.
Your error did not know it was you when it aimed.