yabs

I
You
They

All in our own form of turmoil

Arbitrary decisions
At our own discretion
Our own peril

All caught in capricious chaos

Radical changes
That led to these turn of events
This state of reluctant convalescence

All to prove that everything is nothing

Guileful at living sad
But convincingly happy lives
Solely for the needs it quenches

All marked with regrets we deny

Mired into this illusion
Of a reshaped future
That still eerily resembles the past

That is the eye of the storm

Calm and seemingly safe
Surrounded by a pandemonium
Of rough truths and fine lies

Reflecting what we pretend to keep hidden...