It's coming to an end,
the impending armageddon.
I'm not prepared,
now I will have to battle.
All the stocks are gone,
the neurotics went over board.
Now I'll be forced to fight for scraps,
like crazed mothers at Wal-mart on Christmas Eve.
Like the cocky squirrel who has stocked up early for winter
the no-life-having nerd bastards laugh at me from the pub,
beer foam dripping from their chin, as
I run back to the library for one more book, one last copy.