The jig is up us, for us who know each dawn delivers
A renewed sense of dread, despair, disillusionment; another day in,
Day out slog, the persistent, insistent fear of, fill in the blank,
An absolute knowing in the end, nothing really matters.

A tranced-out going through the motions at a meaningless job,
The mechanical everything's fine exchange, the pasted on smiles,
The inevitable, "How ya doing, how's it going?",
Muttered absent mindedly on the work-a-day-rat-wheel.

One thought that saves the day; the ride home, the solace of
The burn of the *****, the quick numb out effect straight into the 
Blood brain barrier without a hitch, the fear lifting, down into the dark Chamber of no real care and slowly, surely, relief arrives.

And deep inside this numb town, a desperado appears, calls the shots, Schmoozes slyly, "Hey compadre, give me your fear, and
I give you my self-righteous willfulness in return, and best of all,
I’ll deliver you your very own smothering mother of oblivion."

Awakened, head pound, brain fog, dry as a desert, need water now, And Like clockwork, a barely audible patient inner voice asks,
“Is this the really the life you want?” and without hesitation,
The regular repetitive retort, “Yup, one more day at a time.”