If you were to ask,

In your echoed voice,

For your simple task,

 “Would you change, given the choice?”

No.

No, not even if you had said,

Like the white noise in my head,

That all will adore, “If thou’st abhor’d”,

One single aspect of my life.

I have bled, bruised, coughed and sputtered.

In my vulnerability, my ego has fluttered,

And I am not sorry for it,

Not one molecular bit. Damn it.

I love my reflection, my work, and can rightfully say,

That the white noise is not loud enough.

No dollar, No bill,

No gold, no gilded illusion,

Will ever make me different.