Damn rutina

you wake up,

damn alarm clock rings like it has the

right.

again.

same time,

same cheap coffe,

same wrinkled shirt that doesn´t even

smell like anything anymore.

you go to work

like someone walking into a cell,

you sit down,

smile at the boss,

suffle papers,

and pretend any of it makes sense.

but it doesn´t.

you know it.

and still, you keep going.

because the bills don´t wait,

because no one taught you how to live

without screwing up your back for a

lousy paycheck.

people talk, laugh,

plan vacations,

you just count the days

like they´re steps toward the grave.

it´s no depression,

it´s disgust.

sick of the same shit,

of polite greetings,

of saying "I´m fine"

when all you really want

is to tell it all to fuck off

and sleep for six straight moths.

you look in the mirror

and don´t recognize the bastard you

used to be.

the one with dreams,

with fire,

with hunger.

now there´s just you.

your dark circles,

your mediocre paycheck,

and a silence louder than every boss in

the world.

life doesn´t always hurt.

but it gets boring.

and that, my friend,

that kills too.