I LOVE BAD POETRY!

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The right and the wrong merge to blurred-bland indifferece,

Or maybe congeal into every sour choice,

Erased is the line of solid division

Replaced by a plea for pressing decision

A frantic confusion that strangles my voice.

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I can discern the difference between black and white,

The pure and the tainted

The cursed and the sainted

Like the day from the night.

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But my brain bleeds unfocused at thoughts of the grey,

The best and the good

The misunderstood

When there is no right way.

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So if I as my ally will always know best,

And I wake up tomorrow as one of my foes,

Will reality reverse the typical

Into a spiraling, slanted reciprecol,

That flips upside-out what my former self knows?

Have I answered this question perspective-correctly?

Or did I miss the point of this whole futile test?