I wake up
Get out of
bed
Find my
mask and put it over my face
Wipe the
dishes dry
Brush my
teeth
My apathy
forces me to lock the door as I leave
I trudge
the road
My head is
hung
The frost
crunches beneath my No Brand shoes
I smile at
my colleagues
I bite back
retorts
I want to
teach the little bastards to dance
My mind is
numb
My thoughts
are dumb
Each hour
passes without a blink
I stare
into space
Eight and a
half hours
A two pack
day and one foot in the grave
Home again
Mask by the
door
I sag
against the jamb, fall to the floor
Dinner for
one
Frozen peas
and white sauce
I toast the
mirror: prost!
Then to bed
Early to
rise
Another
day, more lies
No comments:
Post a Comment