Only By Rote
The feeling that I don't matter is infiltrating everything, seeping in with its damp musty devilry, with its ache against this biogical machine that runs only by rote. I must snap out of this, if I don't make them budge up I will not sit at the table.
So, then, running down, running away from the strong peak, the big climb followed by the slip, drip, drop down and this is where I wobbled to the finish, the resting point, the down, the dregs, the remainder waiting in the basement with the rats. Rats.
Scattered 
