Content Warning : Do you want to continue?
This poem contains content which some readers may find disturbing.
It is unsuitable for children or anyone who is easily offended.

YES
I am over 18 years old, I have been warned and I still want to read this poem.
NO
I don't want to read this type of content, take me back to the previous page.


deepundergroundpoetry.com

Morning Business

Morning Business

The alarm clock screeches at me like a banshee at seven in the fucking morning.
Every morning it tears apart my ear drums without warning.
It’s bad enough I have to force myself out of bed by crawling
across the hard-cold beginning to rot flooring.
The state of both my physical and mental state should be concerning
since I’m one lousy day away from shutting my eyes permanently and never returning.
I should be adventurous, full of life and out in the world exploring
nature and a real way to earn an honest living.
How much longer can I tolerate my life constantly stalling?
How much longer can I continue feeling like my life is free falling?
A desire to be great and a drive to succeed should be inside of me burning!
Instead I’m constantly falling back into old habits and conforming
to the useless ways of the man I consider my prince charming.

I crawl to the bathroom and force myself to my feet.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror, I’m looking awfully fucking weak.
Wrinkles dominate around my eyes which look lifeless and bleak.
With my bloodshot eyes staring back at me, I force a crooked smile looking like a freak.
Only if there was something about me that made me unique.
Something that made people look at me and say wow, I want to be like you Dominique,
but I contain no such attributes, only a rapidly decaying physique,
poor posture and while sitting at my desk at work, poor technique.

I open the medicine cabinet and take out the bottle of my prescription Xanax,
pop a handful of them wishing I would just get Anthrax
and die in peace wearing my favorite spandex.
It’s a miserable life being completely fucking manic.
I put the pills away, splash some water in my face and wash it clean.
I quickly put on some make up that surprisingly has me looking better than I recently have been.
Feeling proud, I light up a cigarette while at the same time wishing I had caffeine.
It takes a lot of effort for me just to get ready to go into work since that shit hole isn’t really my scene.
I want to work at a place that treats me like a motherfucking queen,
not some useless whore like I was when I was eighteen.
I can’t really blame them for hating me, that place runs like a well-oiled machine
and I’m late half the time, missing in action a day or two a week and have poor hygiene.
I’m constantly apologizing to my boss Eugene
whose eventually termination of me can be foreseen.
I can’t be counted on and come off as rather obscene.
Once you meet me, my imagine you can never be unseen.

I exit the bathroom, walk back into the bedroom to get dressed.
I rub my head getting a headache, just thinking about that place has me stressed.
I put on a rather skimpy shirt to show off my breasts.
They are my best asset so I like to show them off and allow them to impress.
Men will stop mid walk to stare at them and obsess.
What’s the worst my boss can do for dressing provocative, place me under arrest?
Then take me back to his place so he can watch me undress?
He would like that show way too much.
He doesn’t have enough game to get as much as a simple touch.

Ready for work, I look at my clock and see I’m already running late.
What’s new?  They are used to me by now not showing up right at eight.

I walk downstairs and go into the kitchen to have a quick cold one before hitting the road.
I need a slight buzz to deal with the traffic being slow,
otherwise I stress out and imagine myself being on a cop’s episode.
Talk about stress and anxiety overload.

I chug a beer then chug another as 8 am is already approaching.
I’m sure all my snotty coworkers are already in the office boasting
How they made it in on time again and I’m still sitting at home loathing
or standing in the drive way smoking.
They are just waiting to make fun of my clothing
and give me a good old fashion roasting
that ruins my day before it even gets going.
Fucking bitches lacking any resemblance of emotion.

Now done with the second beer, I go into the living room to discover my boyfriend holding onto a spoon and a needle.
He looks up at me and smiles rather gleeful.
He motions for me to come sit next to him since he has for me a gift.
I shake my head no and tell him I need to leave for my shift.
He tells me again to sit down promising this will be quick.
I know better than to sit down next to him, but he’s my control stick.

I take a seat next to him on the couch as he grabs ahold of my arm.
He sticks the needle into my arm and empties its contents with no charm.
The drug hits me hard as I sit back into the couch losing motivation to go to work.
My boss is going to think I’m such a jerk.
My boyfriend reloads the needle and sticks in back into my arm again.
He smiles at me knowing I can’t abstain.
My phone lights up and rings at my boss’s name appears on my phone.
I pick up the phone while letting out a groan,
hit the ignore button and slump back into the couch
feeling like a useless slouch.
Written by TylerZ (Tyler)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 0 reading list entries 0
comments 2 reads 542
Commenting Preference: 
The author encourages honest critique.

Latest Forum Discussions
SPEAKEASY
Today 11:51am by Too_hot69
POETRY
Today 11:21am by Grace
COMPETITIONS
Today 11:15am by Her
SPEAKEASY
Today 9:24am by Too_hot69
COMPETITIONS
Today 4:56am by NANCY_RDZ_STORIES
SPEAKEASY
Today 4:15am by Grace