I tend to imagine myself, 15 years from now,
Being one of those sad people you see
In the corner of cafés,
Pouring whisky into their coffee,
pathetic,
Drained.
Bags drooping from their eyes,
Adding another 20 years
to their tarnished appearance.
In some low income career,
No friends,
No livelihood.
Just themselves and a dingy apartment,
Cigarette butts scattered
From an overturned ashtray.
What sad expectations,
I set for myself.