Sunday, January 11, 2009

The Disease Of Procrastination

my eyes open/ bloodshot red/ dry as the sahara/ my lips cracked/ and knotted hair wrestles its way down my battered back/ I awake and stretch/ entrenched in stench/ another empty bottle wrapped in paper lay in my lap/ Today I will find a way out of this invisible grave/ today is the day I'll shave, get cleaned up and find a way to get some work/ oh not the corner with a borrowed sign/ instead a job/ a 9-5/ today is the day I'll become alive/ although contrived/ I too have dreams to be someone one day/ and so I will/ just not today...

[ this piece reveals the mind of a homeless man who'll always be that way until he's found dead ]

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