What wit's end looks like right now

Exhausted. Defeated.
Spying with burnt-out eyes
Two monstrous feet that belong in another world
A tummy, a tongue to be tucked away
A face red with rage, with blisters and sweat
from walking this way and that to find a way, only to find that
I’ve gone astray in this obstacle course of
Remote-control smiles on whose lips are etched:
Welcome to Wit’s End. F*** you.


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