Alone in bed, a book open in hand.

     Surrounded by people, a drink in hand.

The pages turn as the story becomes known.

     The drinks are poured as the night becomes forgotten.

Sitting on the couch, a blank document open.

     Sitting on the floor, a needle prepped.

The keys type out a story to be told.

      The injection destroys a life before it is known.

Standing by the easel, a paintbrush in hand.

     Standing by the car, hands in the air.

The brush moves on the canvas, creating art.

     The cuffs go on, creating a record.

Some live a life full of purpose and chance,

     Whiles others test fate, with death a moment away.

                    The things you do on a Friday night,

                    set the pace for the rest of life.

                    Remember the choices you make each day,

                    have the ability to define who you are.