I go to work, high and hungover.
Shuffling feet leave a trail to the coffee ***, sleep shaking off with every step.

I drunkenly stumble through my night, redundancy oozing out of every pore, mixing with the *** soaked sweat that trickles down my face.

Purgatory exists inside of me; its numbing gray swallowing up everything in my field of vision & permeating my thoughts.

Creeping. Crawling. Consuming.

The Golden Years are rusting under my fingertips, and I stand idly by, watching it happen.