He’ll roll out of bed early,
He’ll get on the bus to hell,
He’ll slump to his first torture room
And sit silently waiting.
He’ll rejoice in those select few classes,
He’ll keep himself from collapsing,
He’ll follow the rules and fall behind,
He’ll keep falling down until he thinks
He’ll die.
He’ll get out of that place,
He’ll enter his home,
He’ll click the magic button,
And his worries will melt like wax in the heat of the music.
~~~~~
My fingers curl around the doorknob…
It’ll be over soon…
The door slams shut behind me…
Getting closer, not much longer…
A drink from the fridge and snack from the cupboard…
Ease your thoughts, no good being tense…
Taking the steps down two at a time…
Yes, yes, almost there…
My bag hits the couch, followed by my coat…
Now…
The screen comes to life…
At last…
The familiar program opens…
Release…
Sweet melodies flow from the speakers…
And escape…
The harmonies pull my consciousness away.
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