Assuming My Role In the Diorama

I awake with the question "Am I like my predecessor?" Automated and fabricated to slave for the oppressor I join the procession yet I am an orbate transgressor Dissipated and attenuated with no clear successor Then I drift into much more lofty domains With greater rewards yet more precarious terrain A place where answers can not quite be explained Where the mind is confounded but the spirit ascertains Then I shower and shave; I sigh and greet the day Will it be my chagrin or triumph I put on display? In my head I have a tempest, in my heart a bouquet I must choose which one to portray, which one to obey