I've only had an hours sleep.
Those sleeping pills don't work.
Six of them I took.
I have work now and after that it's
the new years eve party.
I will have a good time;
smoke cigarettes until
my throat burns up.
Drink booze until I puke
my guts up and dance until
my legs dropp off.
But before that I have to serve people
their roast dinners and pretend to be happy
wondering if they will be good enough to tip.
Not many of them are.
I will be waiting for the clock to strike 7
and I dread coming in to work the next morning
to start all over again...
What kind of life is this?
My New Years resolution is to get a
new life.
I'm suffering from the same old thing on
New Years Eve.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Reality poem - honest and direct