the thing i find so hard to do
telling a lie (a lie to you)

it is hard, because everyone is perpetually asking me how i am, and there is no polite answer beyond 'hanging in there'

there comes a time in every life

a missed window of opportunity
i know what will make me better
dragging my sack of flesh out of bed in the morning
taking it to work
where i go through the motions
inch by inch
step by step
agonizing in its numbness no feelings just blank painful seething boredom
while each second another sliver of my soul is scraped away
like a razor scraping
making my head better for some eternal workday drudgery?
i think not.

splitting waves
spitting crimson bones
against the sea of rocky shores