Every day
he wakes up
from a bad
nights sleep
and he'll go
and wash
his face
in tiny gray
bathroom sink,
glaring madly
at the figure
in the mirror,
then he'll dress,
fit his
corpulent
body
into a suit,
gray and sad
and overused,
right after,
to his kitchen
he'll go,
make dull
coffee and
a dull meal,
on a
wobbling table
perspiring
terribly
he'll gobble
down his
gray food,
and lock his
apartment
and
then to his
gray car
and
off to his prison,
his gray job,
a thing he hates,
until the sun goes down,
followed by home
again
where he'll have a drink,
watch the gray news
and fall asleep,
and tomorrow
repeat
the same thing,
another
day in the life
of the fool.
2013. Just wrote it.
I don't wanna end up like the Fool and it depresses me, the thought of the same thing every day. Getting up to work at a job I hate, every day 'till I die. Terrible. A nightmare. And it hurts to see so many trapped in that process with no way out but death. You see them out sometimes, you can tell by looking at their defeated faces and posture and the way they speak, monotonous, a bore. And they'll fake a smile, maybe they have a kid with them, but you know that in their heads they wish that the kid doesn't end up like them. A father, a mother, who doesn't want their kids to think of them as heroes. It's sad really. They've got a wife, a husband, they hate each other. Or perhaps you saw them at a bar, face down on the wooden counter, an unfinished beer right in front. And those ties, like nooses around their necks, slowly choking their life force away. Maybe, at some point, in the beginning of their working lives they thought things through like me. "This won't happen. I'll notice when it does and I'll change things. I won't be a Fool." And the moment of transformation comes and they don't notice until it's been years too late and they've dug themselves to deep and it's over.
I guess that what I'm trying to say is, don't be like The Fool.