Tentative working title is "Writing in Reverse"  (similar to the Spoon tune, "Written in Reverse"), though this would likely change if I ever get it fixed.

if you could rewrite the story
tell it in reverse
would it be better
or would it be worse?

And what of the beginning of the story?
Do you think you know?
are you near the beginning?
and does it show?

did your ending deserve the attention?
was it worthy of acclaim?
did it bring you honor,
or only shame?

Will the intro grab the reader,
inspire him to read?
is there a compelling story
to which you can lead?

into the middle
where the plot thickens
it can inspire admiration
and sometimes it sickens

you're in the heart of it now
how fast are you writing?
is it with passion
or with yourself are you fighting?

Encroaching ever more
To once remote lands
Making everything similar
And everything bland

Wanting ever more
His greed knows no bounds
To where can one go
If he wishes not to be found?

At some point it must be realized
That expansion isn't progress
And if we want to move forward
We might, in fact, have to regress

With no one to blame
No one to chide
Off to the mountain
He goes to hide

He ascends the mountain
With a simple plan
A simple action
That will free the man

Letting it loose
A primal scream
Releasing the stress
And living the dream

An action so raw
So juvenile, so wild
Setting aside the man
To be a child

But alas, the scream was not to be
It wasn't needed
The action meant nothing
He finally conceded

Seeing the beauty of life
He could finally see
'Twas merely the thought
That set him free

So he returned to his home
No longer surly and mad
Able to return for a spell
To being employee, husband, and dad

"I am you," she said,
matter-of-factly.
"How can that be," I asked,
"that you're me exactly?"

"You don't understand," she said,
then said it again.
"Look in the mirror," she said,
"and you will see your friend."

"I only see myself," I said,
"I'm the only one here."
"Then you don't see anything," she said,
"You need another mirror."

"My mirror is just fine," I said,
"so just let me be."
"Then maybe it's you," she said,
"Perhaps you can't see."

he gawks
he squawks
he makes much ado
about nothing

his speciality
is triviality
and to the rest
it is banality

important, no
a burden, yes
whom might care
is anyone's guess

he gawks
he squawks
he is much ado...

about nothing