In My Words

Fiction & Literature, Poetry, Short Stories
Cover of the book In My Words by Mont G, Xlibris US
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Author: Mont G ISBN: 9781543427837
Publisher: Xlibris US Publication: June 15, 2017
Imprint: Xlibris US Language: English
Author: Mont G
ISBN: 9781543427837
Publisher: Xlibris US
Publication: June 15, 2017
Imprint: Xlibris US
Language: English

I wake up with the sun peeking in my eye. Thinking of my day and I guess I'll try. Walk over to the sink to wash my face. Going over my schedule, yelling out, "Fuck this place!" Brushing my teeth, I had to do that. What I want for breakfast? Cereal or oatmeal? Oatmeal yea that. Burnt my hand on the stove damn the pain! Go to rinse with water. It's off, damn again. I look at the clock and see eight one three. Damn that was quick hit them with the New York, damn B. I walked out the door depression hit me. Realized I was on a flat, pain is in me. Changing my tire busting my knuckles. All I can do is chuckle. Riding off going to work. Listening to radio, laughing like a crazy jerk. Pulling up to the plant the smell is real. Look in the phone at my kids I got to deal. Get in my jump suit clocking in. On the line they talking about the clubs the girls they went all in. I hit my lunch break. No money oh shit faked a stomach ache. Finishing up work feel my pain. Feet ache, headache no call from my main. Driving home slow even more depressed. My mind is locking on things that stress. Walking in the door remembering no water. My life in pain no real order. I go to bed too many hunger pains. Who gives a shit waking up to another day of pain?

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I wake up with the sun peeking in my eye. Thinking of my day and I guess I'll try. Walk over to the sink to wash my face. Going over my schedule, yelling out, "Fuck this place!" Brushing my teeth, I had to do that. What I want for breakfast? Cereal or oatmeal? Oatmeal yea that. Burnt my hand on the stove damn the pain! Go to rinse with water. It's off, damn again. I look at the clock and see eight one three. Damn that was quick hit them with the New York, damn B. I walked out the door depression hit me. Realized I was on a flat, pain is in me. Changing my tire busting my knuckles. All I can do is chuckle. Riding off going to work. Listening to radio, laughing like a crazy jerk. Pulling up to the plant the smell is real. Look in the phone at my kids I got to deal. Get in my jump suit clocking in. On the line they talking about the clubs the girls they went all in. I hit my lunch break. No money oh shit faked a stomach ache. Finishing up work feel my pain. Feet ache, headache no call from my main. Driving home slow even more depressed. My mind is locking on things that stress. Walking in the door remembering no water. My life in pain no real order. I go to bed too many hunger pains. Who gives a shit waking up to another day of pain?

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