Choices

You play the victim of crimes you committed.

Play games on your own and beam at your winning.

You have trophies in place and absolutely no grace, 

I'm starting to wonder if I'm in the right place. 

Because my head spins when I'm talking to you, 

We go around in circles like Barbie doll interviews.

The limit was 90 but you're always obtuse. 

Is it sanity or you? I have no choice but to choose. 

And choices draw voices in breaking heads.

Choices are getting warmer like used beds.

My choices? They hate me and all my friends. 

The choices just might start my inevitable end. 

If I leave the horrid comfort I've known,

Will I ever find it again on my own?