Sportsmanship

I was drowning. If it weren't for that nerve-wrecking game of Cool Kidz in the evening, I would have forgotten to try kicking and pushing the water underneath me. The sportsman loses as a fighter and beats himself while his imaginary team of probably his own seven souls cheers him on. He was on this losing side and the winning end too. As nature has it all the while.

Begging for a lifeline that would never be thrown. Everybody is too occupied, hands and mind. You got to save yourself.

The couch potato found the lost spirit. Listened. It still is there, eh?

Who is that cheeky rascal watching these people living these lives of theirs? Look at the games and the desire to win. Ingrid thinks it isn't bad to be a loser. But she never live on for people to listen to her or find any of what she says bearing sense. Soon, all is forgotten and people pride themselves with poppings of the same old revelations.

Nearing the day of remorse, the familiar pictures are undesirable. You just don't want to be the same. The truth says it's not, if you mind listening. This is an earth-size shoe. You can actually let it slip if you want. Or take it in like a battery-charger. Otherwise, it won't do much good. Of all the voices, you hear the loud people trumpeting on their ego. Not wrong. Just theirs.

I am feeling pretty invisible these days. Slowly turning into a stranger. The fight is personal. I just am reluctant to kill myself for reasons that I think I'd forget after I die, considering my very little sense and memory.

Let me or not, I am still looking up.