You're Dying Here

Picture this:

You're at work
in your little
cubicle.
Doing nothing
too important.
Emailing this,
filling out that.
Talking to Bill,
George, Hank and Ken.
Laughing merrily
about some whore
that Hank fucked
on Saturday.
When suddenly
BANG!

It hits you.

That feeling
deep in the pit
of your gut.
No, you're not
hungry.
Well not for food, anyway.
The feeling that slaps
you across
the face,
is the feeling
of emptiness.

It comes out of
nowhere
and stings like fuck.
"What am I
doing?"
You ask yourself.
"Where am I
going,
what am I DOING?!"

Ok, maybe not that dramatic.
But it still hurts.
And it still stings.
And you don't know
what to do.
So you excuse yourself.
Head to bathroom
and look in the mirror.
You're sweating.
Your heart beats
at the rate it would
if you were doing
some heavy work.
Lifting a big pile
of clothes
and running down
a
long
flight
of
stairs.
And you don't know why.

But then you
do know why.
It's because you're
wasting your
fucking time.
"You're dying, man."
Your brain tells you.
"You're
fucking
dying
here."