I slowly wake up and lay in my bed.

Trying to place the pain in my head.

I gaze at the faded, mildew-stained wall.

Then stand up, weak, weary and tall.

I go to my window and watch smoke rise from afar.

I walk outside to my old, rusty car.

I drive down the road to the steel mill.

To make money for dreams that I'll never fulfill.

I park my car in the gray, crumbling lot.

The work is rigorous, brutal and hot.

But I keep walking in, day after day.

Slaving my entire life away.

Every day I walk out, more tired than before.

Then I ease my sorrow at the liquor store.

The pattern will go on in perfect repetition.

Keeping me away from my every ambition.

I do foolish things to numb my pain.

People will stare, with looks of disdain.

I truly would like to do what’s best for me.

But others may see things differently.