deepundergroundpoetry.com

So, this is the new life...

I must apologise in advance
for steering away from more important issues,
but I'm considering this self therapy
and I'm not going to get coy about
who knows what about why.

It's turning in to a routine...

At about this time
I'll consider masturbating
and falling asleep.
The cheap sluts
of the internet
do nothing
so I think about her.

Have you heard that joke
about the man crying
and wanking at the same time?

I sit in the pub
for as long as possible
drinking coffees and ginger beers.
Always sober,
watching the rest of them stumble.
I look after my charming demeanour,
but it has no interest
in pursuing anything.

I genuinely think I'm almost there,
there is no space to relapse,
but it makes no difference.
I continue working my job,
I experience looking at this sorry town
with complete clarity.
I keep fit,
I practice an extreme self defence system.
I am even eating well again.

But, there is a catch:
I do all of this,
but there is something essential missing.
As a result, my routine continues
and I push hard to make it work,
but I do so
for nothing.
Written by CruelHandedWriter (Jamie Rhodes)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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