Burnt is a dream
Back then, a long, long time ago,
Under the safety of my home, I had a dream, the perfect career, how beautiful were the
Red flames that i believed could not frighten me, a blessing on a cold autumn day.
Now I look back, what a dream.
Truck sires wail, flames get higher, they want to consume you, and you can't get away.
Image by Canva, Dream-Lab
Listen
Listlessly lying on the white topped bed,
Intensely focused on the slightly crooked tile on my glorified cage's ceiling.
Safely balancing on the line between boredom and survival.
Trying not to think about days back then,
Entertainment taken for granted, and
Normal was a characteristic of a person.
Quantity Over Quality
I placed the last box down with a thump.
"Whew." I was feeling good as I walked into the hall, which was filled with tables topped with open boxes of cans, bottles, and packets. Soon a middle-aged woman walked in. I greeted her with a smile only to receive a frown. "Maybe she's having a bad day," I thought, walking her through the hall, my smile steady.
"Only one?" She read, pointing to a stack of bologna.
"Yes, only one." I responded.
She grimaced, said "why should I have to eat this, it's so fake," took three, and walked out.