Bad taste in my mouth
Slowly suffocating from work
It’s not supposed to be like this
Mindless busywork creates a mindless Steve
A younger me would think about being in my forties and reminiscing about how tough it all was.
I want to write something, believe me I do but I can’t.
I have to collect my pollen.
I want to close my eyes, count to three, and open them to a happier and more meaningful existence.
For the love of all that is holy, somebody save me from this hell I’ve found myself in.
Things may seem bleak but I’ll come out stronger in the end.
Swing music will cheer me up temporarily but damn something’s got to be done about this.
I’m a ghost of my former self and I do not like it.
If only the diem would carpe itself, I don’t have the energy.