Staring down at pink hands.
Stamping forms?
Exploded pen?
It doesn't really matter why they're pink,
But they are.
I wipe them on my clean white shirt.
I can't really remember.
All I know is that I'm living this life.
Wake up, work, sleep, repeat.
I stare down at my feet,
These are not my shoes.
I don't know whose they are,
But they aren't mine.
Wake up, work, sleep, repeat.
Flash back to spray painting your car,
Your clean black car,
Now features fluorescent pink writing.
I worked my ass off for you,
Turns out you're just a prick,
and I want everyone to know
Wake up, work, can't sleep, repeat.
Flash back to leaving my bosses house.
Invited for a family dinner,
Discussing my promotion.
This is my life.
Nice house Mr. Boss.
Nice roast beef Mrs. Boss.
At the end of dinner Mr. Boss explains he can't afford my promotion.
I tell Mr. and Mrs. Boss to go fuck themselves.
Only to walk home in Mr. Bosses shoes.
Wake up, fired, can't sleep, repeat.
I look out my window and see
Mr. Boss driving down the street.
My life is gone.
Passing by in the form of a black Honda civic,
With pink writing on the passenger side.
Inside is a red faced man
Throwing shoes at my door.
Some lives just aren't worth waking up for.
At least I have a new pair of shoes.