1hr 27mins @ 190 degrees, but don't forget the potatoes

I thought I'd stop by
in between the assignment
  -deadline tomorrow morning-
the first chapter of another novel
I won't finish,
cooking dinner,
running a bath,
mowing a senile woman's lawn,
feeling tired.

I can't remember the last time
my eyes burnt like this.
It was probably the last time
I spent the previous night drinking hard,
staring some big black rude cunt into submission,
cursing the woman I'm supposed to love
and then sleeping on the sofa.

My alarm is set for 06:00.
another day on the site
lifting the heavy shit
for the boss with the bad back.
I envy the pork
sat in the oven
a lake of oil bubbling away
around it.

I hope that bath is still deadly hot.
I hope it can soothe my joints,
my muscles,
and my mind.
Sadly, I've learned there's no room for hope.
Hope is what keeps us doing the same thing
whilst we HOPE
that we'll be saved from it.

Sadly, I have to inform you that
that is bullshit most of the time.

The only secret going is that you have to 'do'...

If you don't want to be a fat cunt
you have to eat well and exercise
If you want to be strong you have to lift
whilst you feel blood vessels giving way
under pressure
If you want to be entirely happy
then you're going to have to spend a sad
time waving farewell to the 'drag-me-downs'
of your life.

I want life to work.
I quite fancy it.
So, I'm going to stop myself right here,
take off my clothes
and sit in that bath.
I'm going to have a long hard think
about how the sense of doom
that has sat on my shoulders all day
is what happens when I pour in a skinful.
Then I'm going to smile,
knowing that for every fuck up like last night
I'm getting closer to never knowing it again,
because I'm not sure I can
deal with the pain
the way I used to,
and I've wasted enough time hoping
that something or someone
will take it away.