Newspaper with the same stuff,
a mug of coffee, a cigarette
– my daily breakfast.
The toast is burnt
and the milk turned sour
– like everyday.
The shouting never ends…
I look at her:
nasty bathrobe, greasy hair,
evil glance…
I try to understand
WHY
am I still here and not
elsewhere…
Yelling ‘goodbye’
I slam the door behind me
smile.
a while
horror is over.
wasn’t today
maybe tomorrow
will be this wonderful day
that will be so different…
Yes, I’m quite sure
it will be
if only
tomorrow comes…
Autumn, 2000