Trivial hell

Welcoming the morning glory,

with bloodshot eyes and messed up hair,

starts a battle as the mirror stares.

Sleepy and hung over he goes through the motions,

in his mind reliving a false notion.

Struggling through the early stages,

He gets up his lazy ass, hes got to earn his wages.

Hellos and customary greetings later,

making his way through a group of masked men,

he settles down in his den.

As the laptop tolls the daily bell,

he starts living in his trivial hell.

Making a list of his to do tasks,

he doesn't even know that he has put on a mask.

He looks at the clock every now and then,

in the meanwhile, answering questions about how, why, where and when.

His smile withstands all that people say,

as he thinks of all that is in store for him on this day.

His mind however, is wandering far away from his den,

spurring a thought or two every now and again,

making him think of these pleasures as he battles the pain.

He thinks its a battle, that has all the glory at the (week)end,

and to skye heights he will ascend.

But somewhere in his mind,

he knows there is some place he has to find,

where the mask will do him no good and it has to be left behind.

With this thought he examines the fancy toy,

its like the dream of an excited boy.

He looks at it from the corners of his eyes,

hoping that it will spring a surprise,

give him what he has been waiting for,

although his logical mind tells him its as good as folklore,

but he believes this from his core,

He waits, he waits, he waits...

That one last time, just once more.