The Commuter's Cycle.

Late night thoughts part 2.

F**k this. F**k that. F**k everything. It’s monotonous and mundane, a slow, torturous existence; “work” is an understatement. When the end comes though, there’s no light at the end of the tunnel; just another stop, a platform, a bus bench, populated by commuters whose faces are as cold and hard as the concrete beneath them. 

It’s like looking in a mirror that’s less than a millisecond behind or in front of you but still on the same boring and repetitive journey. You think to yourself, “I hope I don’t look like that,” but you do. Maybe your face is more youthful, you have a fuller beard or bigger hair but your eyes give it away. Regretful tiredness, the kind where you’ve put all your energy into something you just could not give two f***s about and obviously, they don’t give two f***s about you. Now you stare at yourself in the tube reflection and even that translucent version of yourself looks drained and you wish you had used that energy more wisely; but you don’t. Your head hits the pillow and you appreciate sleep, a human necessity that your brainwashed mind has transformed into a precious present from your employers that you are so grateful for. You wake up more tolerant in the morning and think “at least they pay me” but they hardly do, but then you think “I was just tired and needed a decent night’s sleep” but you never get one and eventually those lost hours, minutes and seconds of sleep compile into one and you find yourself on that tube again and you're exhausted and suddenly, that’s a week’s worth of energy built up and wasted. A decent night’s sleep and we go again.

Author's Note

Rough and random.