You climb without hands
For hundreds of feet,
With your body strapped into
A hard plastic seat.
Then your car hits the peak
And you look down the slope,
The ground and a crowd
And the loss of all hope.
And with your heart beating
Like domestic abuse
You rush down the slope,
Through the drops and corkscrews.
Forty five seconds later
The ride is all done,
And you smile like a psycho
Wondering “Why was that fun?”
The Daily Travesty 