I've spent a lot of nights under bridges
eating one too many mincemeat pies
not sure if I'm helping my cause or hurting it
just knowing I feel at home
(honestly: I didn't mean to throw so many worthless pebbles
into your well kempt sandbox).

a chestnut how sometimes we go backwards to go forwards.

It's dark under here
but something about it is peaceful;
I know this isn't just a pastry--
I'm like you I've decided,
working each and everyday to be my best
even if my life's work sometimes means
an ode to my rat friend Spike.

Spike and I
go back a little bit further than you might think
in elementary school we both got high marks (believe it or not)
and even back then, we knew we were different,
we knew we were special, even still
our favorite past time was playing hooky
with the other muddied mates in the back.

It's kinda sad
what happens over time--
Spike and I don't talk as much as we use to,
things get in the way, during most of the weekday
I have to leave my hovel and venture out for forages.
Sometime's there's a foe, (oh, that part again)
sometime's there's even a banquet.

Sorry my friend Spike can't party much anymore,
after awhile the lines started to blur
between our hiding places and a silly coned hat--
the very thing he had been trying to celebrate
got lost in all the confetti.

Deep down I even had to wonder
if all our wasted nights under bridges
had been all my fault after all.

a chestnut how sometimes we go backwards to go forwards.

Here under my bridge where I'm safe
I can even shed a tear or two for good ole Spike,
secretly I know Spike is better off without me
but in those times when I feel weak and lonely
I have to wonder if Spike is still fighting
the same as foe as me.

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