Smoking gun.

I heard the laughs

I missed the joke

Skipped in line

Tripped over my foot

John Doe

She fell on her face

Not my bed

Not my mess

I did the time

I crawled out safe

He’s trying to run

He’s trying to hide

But karma is never late

He missed the finally

He missed the prize

The room is clouded

The room is loud

The parties over

The floor is cold

John Doe 2.0

He didn’t know himself

Dodged the storm

The wrath of him

The poet

Lived happily ever after

The artist

He died in my poetry.

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