A writer, I want to be.

I always wanted to be a writer

But Day after day

All I pick up is a smoke and a lighter

My brain is docked

In and out of work I'm clokrd

Relentless bored and hollow

The more time goes on

I realise the masses I've been made to follow

Go to school, find a job, have a family

And on and on it goes

Dreams become buried, embarrassing nonsense, that no one knows

Amd life, it ebbs and flows

We find little trails of happiness

Tiny morsels of reasons for being

But time is funny and a foe

And soon we stop seeing

Letting our dreams go

Casting them back out to someone

Maybe another version of us

We'll never know

So for now

I'll dream of being a writer

While I pick up a smoke and my lighter.

Rokay.