(no subject)

[jack_babalon]

The sun is hiding behind the fog unable to face the day. The coffee stains form maps of little islands along my shirt. The clock doesn't like the way I'm looking at it, it's talking smack in Tick-tocknese,"You want some of this?" it clicks at me from across the room. My co-workers pretend they don't hear it, "He must be talking to you man." one of them says invisibly from their cubicle. I try to focus on the job, I try to play the keyboard like the drums, I try to make my quota, though what I truly want, is to make quotes.
I don't let it get me down. This isn't really me. This is, what they call in the comic books, my secret identity. The man they pay, the man they review, the man they judge and ignore is only the shadow of a crown too bright to wear. They never understand my smile, they don't have to. It's not that their bad people or good people, their just people, just like me, men and women who have sacrificed a little life to make a living. My smile is based on the fact that I know the difference between the two.
Well breaks up...

Comments

too cool

[animeoni.livejournal.com]

You are a beat poet boy. Thats your true identity.