I clock in every day, without fail
To work on getting older
Pluck out my hair
Paint the leftovers white
Drain the oil from my joints
Replace it with crackling gravel
Help the world run past me
Fill the bags under my eyes
With regrets and salt
Squint until the world gets bleary
Leaving only my perspective
Train the tufts in my ears
To catch words I don’t want to hear
Press replay on my old stories
Again and again and again
Obsessed with where I’ve been
Taking no responsibility
For where we’re going
Such a thankless job
We’re all asked to do
And we do it
Day after day, as long as we can
Because we’re all afraid
Of unemployment
——————-
Apparently circling back to some old themes. The first story I ever posted to Vocal:
About the Creator
Sean A.
A happy guy that tends to write a little cynically. Just my way of dealing with the world outside my joyous little bubble.
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