I know I must get up. I know I must rise. I know I must face the little white object on the sheet. I know I have to read, the little black printed words, telling me others have not had a good night. I don’t like it. I hate myself for being happy. I hate the fact that I slept through it all. I hate the fact I couldn’t do anything at all.
I cannot muster the courage to read further, I turn my head to frivolities, I love the colourful DT. Its full of happy nights and day, and reading it makes me feel happy and gay. Its the dope for me. I know it makes me delirious, it takes me away from things more serious, but what can I do but dope, because its the only thing that lets me hope. Because tomorrow is another day and the first few seconds I want to be swayed, I want to tell myself..I am fine, I want to tell myself I don’t want to whine.
I walk through the doors of my dingy room, the little window behind speaks of a darker outside. The door leads me to another land. It helps me realise there’s another sand. A sand of better life and a stronger hope.
Moving on I meet the little guy, doing his little errands without any sigh. Seeing him I tell myself, he’ll see a better tomorrow than today. The words may sound hollow each day, but they help me give hope to my little ways.
I dope(read ignore) because that is what makes me hope.
When I complete the mundane activities of my life, I do it with immense strife. I don’t like it I wasn’t there, but unfortunately I thank god I took a different stair. I hate myself when I feel I am blessed, how I wish I could do something for the wasted.
The little realities of life bring me closer to being doped and hoped for.
I wish I could calm myself with silence and strength, that when I puff my dope with hope- I do not do it in vain
very artistically written!!! poetry written as prose or prose written as poetry?? nice imaginatn..