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sitting here, feeling a bit strange
at the kitchen table, weird thoughts immerse,
they swim freely inside my brain,
wondering about the mice in the vice,
whether they have ceased to exist
in a world with little pity for the weak,
for those with their own set of goals,
but the dice will be thrown, rolled twice, maybe,
to figure out a nice price for the spice
sprinkled about the rice field,
thinner than what we saw when we ran,
chasing a ball across the inner circle of life,
tall as it may be,
taller it could have been,
yet nobody can be a sinner
and a winner at the same time,
can they
could they
would they
most likely not
for a winner is
happier
more carefree
than the sinner
forever feeling
alone
in a world filled
with ongoing life
of goodwill,
love, peace, freedom
within myself
within my being
and the mice in the vice
are dead
long gone
survivors
of the real world