Hopeless

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I get down from the bus sighing,

Conscious of the sweat on my clothes

And what’s to come in a few worthless

Hours. I turn to look at the departing bus,

The years I had squandered faded

With the smoke and dust.

 

My discoloured Penny Loafers make no sound

As they plod on the rain-polished road

My handbag dangles from my shoulder

Empty save for a bottle of moisturizer,

And a hundred rupee note, enough

For another job application.

 

Ahead a streetlamp burns out

And I become acutely aware of the eyes

Of the the men that linger on my silhouette.

I hurry towards the next streetlamp

Desperate for a light to dispel the darkness

Both inside and outside, a damp

Wind blows and I shiver, afraid;

Insecure of what’s to come

In a few worthless minutes.

 

I muster my draining energy

And dash to my apartment, happy

To be home for my last night there.

The next day was another beginning:

Twenty four worthless hours and more

To lose myself in self-pity and depression:

A morbid adventure designed for the hopeless.

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