In split-second bets you make, they wait to unravel themselves.
Like the patterns on the rocks that the boring, non-stop waves beating them formed
Going through the motions of the wayward lives, some art peeks in, speaking to the intense lives the beings lived.
It's pointlessness made worthy by the suspense of not knowing what next
Like you're watching your own movie, off-script and sans-script sometimes.
All birthed by regrets that did not have a chance to be born
Painting lives with hues of green, blue and shades of everything beautiful.
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