Part 2
The alarm rang.
Ejaculating his body into action.
His routine was consistent ;
Mumble a ‘thank-you’,
Shrug off the bad dream,
Shower, and off to work.
Work.
- a fancy word for rigourous activity with
his heart in opposite direction.
This is what he had come to.
MOTIONS.
No zeal, no ambition
Just a body on free oxygen
Questions!
They flooded his heart daily
But answers escaped him
like the spaces between his fingers.
He had met life and learned,
‘You only live once!
Do what you can.
Have fun, breathe.
Have fun, die.’
The lines in his palms recounted his failure rate.
Time and time again he’d failed.
At everything!!
sigh
It’s no wonder he didn’t try anymore.
What’s the point?
He’d fail and quit anyway.
Dreams weren’t worth having.
That was fantasy
And he was a realist.
A realist with a gun.
(to be continued….)
~ sheyla ~