When your life is a God-awful shambles,

A prospect of unending work

With no real reward for your efforts,

While the shirkers continue to shirk;


When everything’s bent on denying

Your chances of winning the race

Or any slight hint of improvement,

As life rubs its swill in your face;


When the most you can hope for tomorrow

Is a new heap of grief on your head,

Don’t say, “I can still try to triumph”—

Just throw up and climb into bed.



(Photo by Grant Delin)


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