The possibility of being me

When my horses were losing, I tried to nurse them back to health.
When the game seemed ahead of me, I tried my hardest to keep up.
When the comments turned to hatred, I tried to ignore them all.
When the people around me disappeared, I kept the porch lights on.
When the sun began to set, I built a fire to stay warm.

When my horses never recovered, I took a shotgun to them.
When the game continued to prevail, I cheated just a little.
When I couldn’t ignore the hatred, I gave a little back.
When nobody saw the light I left on, I let the damn thing burn out.
When the fire failed to keep me warm, I curled up and died.

When the possibility of being me
Came back around
I asked for what was behind
Door Number Two.