It’s the weighted chest pain

That’s hardest to explain 

The interwoven, the lingering

It spins a web across everyday

It’s the fog you learn to see through

Because you can’t get away 

Never the needle in your eye

The thorn in your side

It’s the routine of soft pain 

The clingy sting for life 

It’s the dull ache

Freedom but on a leash

Your mothers kiss with teeth

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There isn’t much to say today,
It’s just an ordinary day.
But I can’t get enough of it;
I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Though some spice wouldn’t be so bad,
Without spice, I would still be glad.
And if I had to make a choice,
Still, I would choose the same, with all I had.

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Alcoholic with sick on his shoes,
Sat on a brown wooden bench
In the middle of town
With his old dog,
Flea ridden,
Shaking, gray,
Lacking good vision
Waiting for a meal
A dropped pasty or pie
A sandwich, perhaps rye.

I, was never taught in school
To be such a man
It was always
You could become a lawyer,
You could become a teacher,
You could become a business man
Never, you could ...

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