Out for a Walk
How the universe compresses
All your feelings and stresses
Into a delightfully joyful
Pile of messes.
Concerns moving about
Like dancing ladies en masse,
Always waiting to talk and confess
Your inadequacies to everyone
You truly detest.
A detestable test of the best dressed stress
You can come up with,
Leaving you to sit
And wonder what’s the point of it...
The point being we’re full of shit,
Just piles of spit having a fit
About how everyone else is.
And who are we to be jealous
Of how everyone else needs
Us to teach them the ropes,
Never realizing that the metaphor means to beat you around the outside of the ring for a length of time.
As I write this rhyme,
At the right time I might
Just go crazy and make a sign
That says it isn’t the write time,
And walk the fuck off.
Everyone wants something when they have nothing to give
Those who have something to give don’t want things from other people.
Funny how that seems
To show everyone has dreams;
Dreams of either working hard,
Or dreams of taking the charge card,
But neither thinks of the other.
Just a bunch of people doing their version of dumb shit that probably doesn’t -really- have anything to do with anyone but themselves, and in their self pity
Creating a committee
To get what they want
So they can flaunt
The fact that other people seem to share their idea about their privation, which is just a farce.