seabiscuit

wallowing in her own pity
she hosts soirees
for anyone who will listen
“whoa is me”
cyclical decisions
power foot paths of infamy  
not the brightest bulb
fence riding into the night
she who hosts
pity soirees
seeking empathy
from the planter’s gallery
yet
the jury stays out
no one is willing
to lead the whorse
because she’ll never drink