All the fighting I've been doing,
accompanied by all the losing,
only makes it seem
like I have a proclivity for getting my ass kicked.
There's nothing poetic about it.
That would be like saying it's poetic
to pull for the heavy favorite.
And while I know a couple people who would,
or who want to be the favored and the loved,
they're more the kind to choke on their tongue
when it really counts.
So they don't really count.
This isn't the kind of game you can walk away from:
Lost love and loved ones
to dissipation into death or the wind,
where you hear their names as your heart reneges,
even if just for a minute,
on all the smiles those people brought.
But it is the kind of game
you'd tap to get out of.
I'd tap to get out.
I would.
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