like dominoes

time and again for the enenth time,
i go on fro the dusty boulevard,
that lies ahead in dark mysterious crime,
couldnt have really cared less for the lard,
that may come from my body,
for it is too tired of fighting rebuttles,
defending itself like a rusted peice of iron,
that hath crumbled like any other little-
peice of wood.
as if one had not planned to acheive,
my talents fall like peices of dominoes,
that wait to tumble one after and leave,
the glory it acquired for standing still,
in one place for being constant in its stance,
for it is dutiful not full of glamour or trills.
it sits silently even in defeat.