Poor Pogo Stick

Dear pogo stick, I sympathize for you. Your spring torques, and they ride and bounce you. Some can get so high off of you. Some jump so high and hard, and with practice comes perfection. They giggle as you squeak, and they enjoy you as you enjoy the idea of having a meaning in life. They wrench your soul while you twist reality to feel a sense of companionship.
Poor pogo strick, I can see you for you. You're tired from this relentlessness, but your shaft is a strong wood. Your plastic handle grips are worn and greasy from their hands. Your spring is tarnished, and not as tight as it was back when this was fun. You may have some use in you still, but one day you will break. Then no one will ride you as you want them to, as you need them to.
Pathetic pogo stick, you are an anomaly to me. Do you exist only to be stressed and hurt? It is obvious this game hurts you, and you wish you were dead; thrown in a fire to be forgotten in the ashes of the past. Why the f*** can't you see past this nonsense?! Or is it impossible for a pogo stick to no longer be a pogo stick?

3.23.06
Poor Pogo Stick