still

 i am fighting to survive that i am struggling to live

my energy is spent worrying about the next morning i’ll have to pry myself from a sleep prematurely 

to head off and earn another month of a roof over my head

food in my stomach

money for things i need, to earn more of it 

it feels like a never ending treadmill 

the only reprieve a couple hours with a friend

a few moments of being seen

in exchange for a regimented 40 hours 

hustling to see people doing real work

tangible work

while i scramble to clear away their disposed of garments

their filthy rags 

and their sopping mats 

is the money worth the distraction from life 

from the utter loneliness 

maybe real jobs are for everyone else

like good credit 

and falling in love 

maybe i’m just supposed to get by 

to get by

to get by