The Rambler

Thoughts of yesterdays drift in the wind, just barely holding on to the edges of my mind. Two years feel like ten, and ten like an impossibility. Wanting the past is a useless game but how much fun can a useless game be? Fun. Fun. Fun. And that's what it's all about. Except it really isn't. It's about tired nights and sleepy days, just making it to the end. Rambling, rambling, rambling on but most of us ramble our lives away. So what's one more, eh? You have to do this! You have to do that! Where can I stop all this ordering babble?! Blah! Like soot in my mouth as I chew up your words. I don't understand why we run to our graves but we do it just the same. I'm last in line in the marathon but let me run it at my own pace. Apologies will not be heard from this mouth. For what should I be so ashamed? That you have more of this and of that? That which you cannot take to your grave.