crawling towards the finish line of woe
i spy you from my point of view
silly sad and tired huffing last vestiges of breath
scratching your lungs for forgiveness
and receiving only shame from the onlookers
ITS NOT A RACE
reads the sign above the rat
and yet it certainly feels like one doesnt it?
and its a race to see who can get offended first
in these overly sensitive and emotional times
of sad sacks and sorry saps
all love lorn and forlong shuffling towards what seems to be
an almost certainly gray day
in a morose world of dark existence.
to all those in that particular race i say to you this:
grow up.