I never asked to join the rat race.
But being a cognizant participant of the
we're always neck-and-neck,
it's you--you're winning--oh,
wait--it's me again!
him, me, you...
Is this a marathon we're supposed to sprint?
Are humans even capable of doing that?
I slow down and become a fat ******* lump,
moving slowly, and yet somehow,
there you are beside me still.
There is our row of hamsters wheels,
and here is our imaginary race
to a finish that exists in an industrial dream.
The soul resides in the breath
we can never catch
as we are racing--
You, me, you, him, her, me... again.
For efficiency's sake
we race in a row.
I need a ******* break.