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Jan 2016
Run. Run.
Puff. Puff.
Run. Run.
Sip.

The daily life,
Of a slaving *****.
A sip of coffee,
A drag of the cancer stick.
And so the daily ritual begins.

The mail box beeps,
In a rhythmic beat,
The type of sound,
That makes you feel,
Like the back of your brain,
Just met a window pane.

Tring. Tring.
Shuffle. Shuffle.
Tring. Tring.
Click.

Pretentious people,
Pretend to be friends,
The knife behind their hands,
The smile plastered in.

The daily meetings,
The usual pains,
With the motor mouthed,
Sweet tongued *****.

Gulp. Gulp.
Slurp. Slurp.
Gulp. Gulp.
Hic.

The day ends as usual,
With a bottle,
What a kick.

As you swaddle over,
To that one room pit,
That you call home,
And see only in a swill.

Beep. Beep.
Tap. Tap.
Beep. Beep.
BANG.

You wished it over,
But the ritual just began.
Written by
ishaan khandpur  India
(India)   
606
 
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