Pointless, Meaningless, Sleepless, Worthless, Lifeles

woman in white clothes on a corner
Photo by Lucas Pezeta on Pexels.com


We rise early, work late, toil under enormous burden for what
— to purchase “things” we don’t need — nor have the time to enjoy

We work hard, skimp on breaks and vacations, follow the capitalist model
— our labor and goodwill, exploited and unappreciated — all for another’s gain

Our work comes home with us, we give completely of ourselves, all in good faith
— only to be taken advantage of by those who don’t — they laugh at our naivete


grayscale photo of woman sitting
Photo by Matej on Pexels.com

In the end, we run ourselves down, destroy our health, destroy our souls
— only to be replaced on a whim, without not even a first — let alone second thought

We are the living dead, exhausted, spent, fueled by caffeine and life robbing diets
— we sprint to win a race to the grave — in a rush to bury our beaten, battered bodies

I write of the damaged and broken, because that is the norm. For each person who overcomes their demons, there are hundreds, if not thousands, who do not.

It is their stories I tell.

“Who am I?”

I am an independent, self-published teller of tales,
an author, as of yet, scarcely any renown.

However, as a storyteller, I know who I am,
and with that persona, I am both confident and comfortable.

I invite you to visit my Amazon Author Pages

if you are so inclined please purchase a copy and leave a review.

Thank you,


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