Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Nov 2018
I just don't know how people do it.
Wake up and work for a living
just to pay hospital, insurance,
utility, student bills
like there's nothing to it,
and then go to bed
with no scary thoughts beating
like cold rain through their heads.
Every day is a struggle between
either myself and the world or
myself and time or
myself and myself,
and it takes every drop of will
that I have to not reach for
the bottle, the pipe, on the shelf.
I just don't know how people,
some people, most people, it seems,
can live any better than that.
Like the one percent sitting
on top of the world looking
down, hysterically laughing
at those who have to work,
who breaks their
backs and necks and minds
trying to make something last
longer than a few ******* days.
Sure, there's beauty in the world,
but you gotta pay to look at it.
And even then, you aren't allowed
to just grab it and take it,
put a sign on it and make it yours.
Someone's already claimed
all you hold dear.
You're just stuck borrowing.
Tyler Matthew
Written by
Tyler Matthew  27/M/U.S.
(27/M/U.S.)   
805
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems