The objective as I see it, is
to run and skip right through it, as
if it was a minor irritation, like a rash you
can't get rid of but you do not want to hide it,so
you proudly tag your infirmities,call them niceties and
you can please yourself if you're bought and sold or
prefer as some, to stay up there,being dusted once or twice a year
on the shelf,in a neat alphabetical order,thumbed and licked occasionally
by the warder,
who some call the great provider.

I divide my time between the two,the best of both or so I think but
thinking's not my game,I'm more of do and do again and that's the pain of loneliness,the creeping of the timelessness where times weighs heavy on my back and time begins to crack the shell I'm hidden under,
Hear the thunder but not really thunder just me farting under one more shell where if I'm lucky I can tell what time cannot,
but not really
just me stalling,inevitably falling once again,if only I could make the leap,beat the creep of being lonesome,get a life,stop being one who's on his ownsome and so I run and skip and all that ****,the modus operandi of the faceless in the crowd guy,

if the objective was to sit and spit patterns on the pavements where all my movements have been monitored,I have reached it and surpassed the goal.
one must move out and go beyond the comfort zone but some like me find comfort in their own home and there's no saving them from mediocrity,I save myself and only me
and the objective changes constantly.