The days roll by like dice on a game board on a crooked table,
The nights are long and silent and smell of whiskey and unbathed flesh,
I awake every morning with a headache worse than the one before,
I don’t know what has become of my life.
I’ve failed in so many endeavors that if I hopped on my car and just kept driving ahead,
Sooner or later I’d end up right back where I started.
I’m self destructive.
Tomorrow will come in just a few hours,
I will live to see the sunrise,
The sunset is still an enigma.
My stomach rumbles,
I hear a car passing down the road,
I reek of bad decisions,
I taste iron and dirt on my lips.
I can see my reflection in this glass,
A child trapped in a well,
Angry with me,
Caged inside my broken body.
If tomorrow I won the million,
I’d spend it all on more lottery tickets.
That’s probably why I don’t win,
Triumph is not for my own good.