Like A Scorned Lover Of Life Poem by Eillio Imbasciati

To write them off, he began to write often,
Now he's on a row, or at least on a bun
Sometimes he appears jaded, cynical, or burned out,
Like a scorned lover of life
He isn't winning the human race, so he may join the rat one,
Scrambling, scurrying, and scrapping for discards
Any further behind life he runs, he'd be travelling to the future,
Running with the pack, and he doesn't want that
Going solo, word by word,
Moral victories a substitute for emotional fatigue