One month into the new job now, the long hours are starting to vanquish my will to live.
Losing sleep to dreams that haunt my consciousness. Garbage goes in my mouth, choking my insides with artificial satisfaction and secret poisons.
Through the haze I conjure memories of a simpler time to the surface.
I do not want to work with a dream of the future, as retirement is an allusion, a fantasy.
Life is too short, as I have seen with mine own eyes. The end is one of piss and pain. Spoon fed bland pureed meat, a side of warm milk that dribbles down your jowls, missing your wrinkled mouth.
I want to live to see ice sculptures hanging from winters branches, listening to woodpeckers break the stillness of the mountains with their song.
I need to seize today, not dream of tomorrow….
Breaking free from the constraints of sadness and weary, I trudge through the snow in the morning light. Two hours in, my heels are screaming as the skin is rubbed raw and the dark stain of blood seeps my socks.
The pain awakens me, healing the dreariness.
Nature’s parachutes never fail to catch me when I’m feeling down.
You and me are definitely brothers from different mothers William. Lovely piece of writing, if a little sad. If it makes it slightly better, I feel very similar to you at the moment. Yep – life's way too short to live / work like this.