Sipping cold coffee, crunching stale custard creams
Is this really the stuff on which I made my dreams
Aching back, numb ass and crooked spine
Is this really the way in which I willed I’d pass my time
Empty wallet, bare cupboards fighting hard through times of strife
Is it fair that I should work myself to death to live this life
Belly rumbles, eyes dried, cold and tired gone 4 am
But once this strain is over I’ll be the one who laughs at them
Author notes
does the wording work? I wanted to keep it inconsistent to show the imperfection and instability of the situation. Just thoughts in my head turned poetic sort of about where I am right now both literally and metaphorically
Any thoughts on what this means to you in todays society? Editorial feedback?
Comments
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woooooooooooooooooooooooah. That blew my mind. Another awesome piece of work. talk soon eh.
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