Irony and Her Hands of Cruelty

I get the feeling that this ladder I’m climbing,
Doesn’t go as high as theirs.
What if I’m simply pantomiming,
Climbing, instead, on stools and chairs?
I look around at what people are holding,
And I see nothing but flushes and straights.
I fight back the thought that my only option is folding,
But something unseen still tricks, still baits.
What option did I long ago pass up,
Where did this road part from that one?
Where’s this well where I am to fill my cup,
Why do I have rain when over there I see sun?
Looking through pictures to find my wrong,
But it must have fallen in between the flashes.
Shifting through stations to find my song,
Lost in the midst of forced screams and thrashes.
As night descends again, I look for the stars,
But no luck tonight, they are all hidden,
All that I get to see is Mars,
For me, the rest are forbidden.
What a bitch is Irony,
These clichéd games she loves to play.
But is guess the choice is not in front of me,
My hands are forced to obey.