Drink pressed against his sweating palm,
Cigarette cradled between two extended fingers,
Artic monkeys blasting out of a tiny speaker,
In his mind echoed screams of guilt,

Creature comforts from a world that doesn’t care if he’s sad,
A world that would rather he died just to make a profit,
Just a social security number on a screen,
Killing him slowly but he loves the peace,
His creature comforts.