A space to whirl around to counter the spin?
Is it a place to kill time,
To toss dice and roll our eyes,
Putting lost thoughts to rhyme,
Counting seconds till demise?
To smoke a bowl to numb the soul,
To laugh at the sunrise?
Or to put on your face
Become part of that race.
Be malcontent with all that
Only to slip on your lip fat?
No.
This is all
Second nature now.
So this is all it boils down to then:
Life is a fucking game, and I intend to win.
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