The dawn breaks through a faux velvet blanket curtain.
I hate to see the sun rise and dispel the darkness
with its unwelcome warmth upon my skin.
My cheap dirty box fan struggles futility to keep me cool
in this squalid oven of a mobile home.
I sneer narcissistically at my first world problems.
Light up a cigarette, the first of many.
Hunger is something I do not know.
Others starve, but I, do not wish to eat.
Why am I even writing this?
Who will see? Only strangers that do not care.
This apathy is all I have.
I await death with solemn indifference.
Today is a good day to die.
But I am not that fortunate.
Too much of a coward to commit suicide directly.
Instead, I prolong my suffering,
drinking in each anguish like fine wine.
Delighting, in the misery of life.
