#388: Dark Day

If I had stood up years ago and said,
"This is not what I wanted. I refuse,"
back when I did not have as much to lose,
it might have made a difference. Now instead,

I stay pressed in my cushioned, comfy chair
and do not speak--there's little left to say.
Escape? Perhaps I'd try, were there a way,
or anyone at all I thought would care.

And I could rage at circumstance or fate,
but I know better now, and so do you.
Inertia is a symptom, not a cause.
The type is set, the hour is growing late,
the tale's not tragic; neither is it new.
It ends like every other story does.
_