Very tedious balancing acts leave us impressed.
Your not Atlas, though.
Life could punch through you like you're dough.
It would have done the same to me.
With that said, throw in the towel.
You go forth and people will don the mask and cowl.
This bus has no driver or brakes.
We lie on the floor awaiting our fates.
For a fiery crash that makes the neighborhood awake.
Or maybe that was too pessimistic.
Get off your ***.
Atlas can't say "I'll pass".
Must they shove you in there?
Keep your eyes open.
Soulless eyes, the mark of a null and void soul.
These eyes have been given to the common folk.
By consent given en masse, a dark figure rockets his way up to the top of the food chain.
When his eyes are blind, some flee.
The twilight of humanity has arrived on such short notice.
Dawn started in black of the midnight.
It was divine intervention.
There was no reason to maintain the fright.
A voice above said "Let's begin the ascension."
A coup de grace, much to the people's delight.
We are all one.
That's what they said.
Shattered glass and us are all one and the same now.
Nobody cares now.
Just collect your final check and go right home.
Count your blessings.
Keep what you have left close.
It's the most anyone could do.
(It's out of our hands.)
Marcus is reevaluating himself down there.
Even if he improves, he can't have you again.
Futility is my closest friend.
The one who is most aware of gravity's existence.
Perhaps, this one time, I won't listen to him.
Around the block, the diesel fuel reeks and the pavement is dingy.
All the businesses are closing down.
If I have you, I'll forget all about those things.
We already have a bond.
I'm not a hyena.
Or some desperate, insecure shut-in.
If you say no, just know that I'm able to go away in peace.
I apologize to all hyenas.
"Who the **** do you think you are?"
The man in question sat, even with the urgency of the question asked.
He was practically catatonic.
His interrogator asked once more, but with more anger:
"Who the **** do you think you are, exactly?"
The man in question answered, "My name is Theodore Cornelius Riley, but in my mind I am the reincarnation of Andrew Jackson, and I will send your **** to the Indian Territory while your having a hemorrhoid."
The man inhaled.
With a mighty exhale, the man said "Try me, *****."
If you read this poem you now have lead poisoning.
The half-fogged lenses of my glasses don't even make me complain.
I'm running through the woods with your aggression that made me budge.
You pinched that woman's arteries that gorilla grip of yours.
She managed to squeeze out "run" so I could get the full picture.
They should swipe you away.