Morning Clockwork

the horror
of "looking forward" to another day
the same faces
the same dreary faces
grey as if etched out on lead

I hate waking up in the morning,
the damp wet air,
the coldness of dawn,
sending chills,
to these already chilled bones

feet on stinging tiles
into the shower
warm liquid and sick toothpaste all over
the cereal is like cotton
tasteless and fluffy
I vomit out the milk

join the throng
heavy feet
one by one
thump thump thump

all through wonderful, shiny automated doors
onto the lustrous, opulent granite floor

same faces
bloody butched up wacky faces
M.A.C faces,
polished sexed up doll-faces,
long faces,
puffed faces,
casually coifed new-age faces

models and monsters
all scrambled together

I'm so fucking annoyed
of this spiritless existence
every
single
fucking
day

same old people
facebook 'friends'
I have two-hundred million of them
twats

sometimes I wonder
what a cunt I am
for never forgiving this life of mine

thinking back to that BBC
documentary
the one about people and whales
the people of the islands
ones who go under sea ice for clamps
and think why I complain so much

in this air conditioned room
bedsheets made in China
and a Taiwanese laptop
from a top-notch Taiwanese tech spot
I wonder why I can't look forward to anything

this selfish fucking brat that I am
I wonder if those islanders
those whale-catchers
I wonder if they get as unhappy as me

how strange that me
this gutless wrench
thinks about unfairness and depression
when I have no right

but what to do
I am bored

bored of the same faces
same routine clockwork
same cold morning air
of seeing the same fucked up selfish brats
mirrors of me
all these people, in this wonderful economy
surrounding each other
with menace and boredom.