a taunting hammer to the face,
the pain like a heavy vertigo
from staring down into the valley
of your own inadequacy.
the goal
— if that
— is relative,
inherently unreachable:
a finish line that keeps your pace
and runs ahead in time with you
in all your bitter striving;
wasting hours on a hopeless hope,
you'll only trade a treadmill
for a hamster's wheel.
you've forgotten you can only
stare down into a valley
if you're standing somewhere higher
in the first place.
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