I have been ruined.

I slave away at the workplace

so often, that a day off

is awkward.

I lay in bed all fucking day,

look up at the clock and

calculate the exact hours and

minutes in which I will be

forced to prepare for

departure.

Acquaintances beg me to attend

get-togethers and fuck-arounds,

“Thanks, but I work tomorrow.”

My most famous and frequently

recited quote.

The recipient doesn’t understand

why playing today isn’t possible

when I must work tomorrow.

They haven’t been ruined yet.

I am nothing more than a

dingy tile on a boundless

floor.

Not quite tainted enough to

be trashed,

but one more crack or

scuff mark and my ass

will be replaced by a

fresh, bleach-white tile

that will slowly lose its

shine

and overlook the

small cracks and scuff

marks that eventually

come.