Survival Techniques
After a long writer's block, this is what I keep up with. The gist of this poem is that your 20s suck and adulting kills you on the inside. Enjoy! The faint patter is my alarm today Reaching my ears 1 hour late First October morning that feels light Today might be for living, I think Unless I die at the pedestrian-crossing It's weird, isn't it? It's 9.30, 9.31, 9.32 And then noon But no sun Can warm you No lights can Brighten your room I try to hum and kickstart Get a beat somewhere, somehow I might as well play Enheduanna In a beautiful concert hall Well, do I get points for trying? It's dark outside Now my day starts Along with my hate-train It's the same Always been Loss is my only gain I'll live another day, always do Pray to Sisyphus and learn Survival techniques for the dead Tomorrow might be a great day, I think If I remember to not wake up again