Middle Finger Mood
Woke up on the wrong side of sanity,
coffee’s cold, so is the corporate cavity.
Mirror mocks me, “Another day in paradise?”
Well, buckle up, buttercup, ain’t nothing here nice.
Traffic jam, my daily dose of dead ends,
honking horns, my only loyal friends.
Boss texts, “Late again?” Yeah, tick tock,
my punctuality’s ticking like a time bomb.
Lunch break in the park, sandwich stale as last week’s news,
watch pigeons peck at crumbs, got nothing left to lose.
Phone rings, it’s her saying, “We need to talk,”
guess my heart’s not the only thing she wants to walk.
In a middle finger mood, flipping off the feud,
life’s a bitter brew, I’m just not in the mood.
Drink the woes down smooth, toast the wreckage of the day,
in my middle finger mood, this is what I choose to display.
Happy hour’s a misnomer, it’s just cheaper booze,
barkeep says I look like I was born to lose.
But I’m just swaying with the barstool, partners in grime,
spinning round, middle fingers up, it’s quitting time.
This goes out to the lost, the broken, the damned,
to the misfits who never needed a plan.
We might bend, might bleed, but we don’t heed
the soulless scripts that they all read.