Racing past tawny grasses

The breath of the enemy
Forming mist on my neck

Snapping ivory jaws at my heels

Breathing, struggling,
Leaping off the ground

Finish just ahead,
Enemy just behind

My adversary, surges
Myself, slacken

Overrun, overtaken, stopped

The enemy finishes on top,
Sinking the claws of defeat
Into my conquered flesh.

I see you there,
Walking all over the world like you own the place.
Pushing nerds into each other,
Then laughing your *** off.

Disrespect is all you seem to give.
And yet everything is what you seem to take.

Spiting, hitting, cursing,
The only things in your repertoire.
The only things you understand.

Then the real world comes
To slap you in the face,
And there I am, slapping with them.

Static. All I hear is static.
And the mumbles of your game.
Always playing that stupid game
As if you couldn't function without it.

I don't want to hear about it.
It doesn't interest me in the least.
(Mostly because I have no idea what you're saying)

I wouldn't have a problem with it,
Except for the fact that you only half listen.
You only have respond too.
Saying 'Yeah's and 'Okay's as if it can apply to everything.

I can only try so much until eventually
All you hear is static.
Static and the sounds of football.

The veins in my
hand stand out like
dirt on freshly fallen snow

As I look upon my hand, it
shakes uncontrollably
changing from a little
to a lot until
finally set it down
only to pick it back
up a moment later

I wish I could feel the
blood coursing through
those purple lines, but
I cannot.

Will not too...unless
I make a small cut
nothing significant, just
enough to feel the
flow and see it for myself

Oh to feel the thumping of
my heart in my hands!

I know I'm alive
now and not just
an empty shell

Thank you throbbing
Thank you pain

It doesn't last forever
clotting takes care and
once again, I feel nothing.

Disgusting is a nice way
of describing this room.

Walking down the narrow pathway
I was surprised to see
but one toilet. No stall,
simply a single toilet huddled
into a corner, scared
to be there too.

Putrid yellow tiling
crept up the walls
like unified mold. A gloss
covered it, slime perhaps?

I washed my hands
quickly in the rusted
little sink that seemed
to grow out of the
wall and headed out
of there, happy to never
go back again.

I admit it, I
have an addiction.

Those red, twisted
vines glisten inside
their clear packaging.

They call my name,
beg me to consume.

My taste buds yearn
to touch those strawberry
ridges. My teeth can't
wait to bite the faux fruit.

One after another, they
disappear into the seemingly
endless chasm that
is my stomach, until
nothing is left except
the empty shell of a wrapper.

Here I am, the
King of the Savannah,
The mightiest of the mighty,
...why do I feel so small?

Creatures cower at my
Magnificent and loud roar,
...why does it sound like
A kitten mewing to me?

My mane is voluminous and
Shines like silk in the afternoon sun,
...why do I feel like I'm balding?

My teeth gleam like
Porcelain when I flash
Someone a dazzling smile.
...why do they feel rotten?

Who am I really, what
They see, or what I feel?