prose

comfort . is . in . routine .

you drove pass/d that warehouse every morning as mom drove you to school n now she drops you off there to worK . you wear a uniform n call it a career n no one is the wiser ? you’ve flush/d hope n potential down the same drain as vomit/d pabst blue ribbon n beef eater gin . the struggle of the artist has been replaced w / the suffocating stability of living cheque – to – cheque . just like dad said , ” comfort . is . in . routine . “

 

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