humidity is a lot like clouds, but way more oppressive

gordon gekko never had it so good
i think as i sit here dying in the heat relaxing with a rootbeer float
mildly enjoying childish parody
getting ready to go to bed around 10:30
any other day this would not be fufilling
but i slave to a purpose, a predominantly self-selected one
everyone around me sees it, my dedication illuminates their empty fucking skulls
those who choose to ignore are only satisfactory in the evening
we can spend our four hours, but tomorrow i have my nine
i'll see you at lunch between the blinks and swallows
out the door to do it again with a smile in my face and a pain in my back
Patrick lurks on the weekends but there is relief!
poring over tomes in the muggy twilight is part of the routine
entertaining enough to keep it up tomorrow
tonight you can fake it if you want, because you know i will for sure