When you pick up the pencil and draw lines that intersect one another
You leave room for nothing but thoughts of noughts and crosses
And find yourself anticipating the rejection or the connection inscribed

Does X truly mark the spot or exist as a mere placeholder
For all the things you can’t have, you won’t let yourself have

What is life but a watered-down response to the flora and fauna that envelop us
They go about their day, we go about our copycat ways
The irony lies in striving to be special yet inevitably serving as the reflection of our world