You lose again

You wake up in the morning, the sun might be shining through the curtains, or the clouds might have closed over the sky like an iron lid, and you may lie there fantasising briefly about not getting out of bed, and you lose again, and you fuck yourself up out of bed and you lose, and maybe you stagger about for a while wondering why the fuck, and what the fuck, and you clean your teeth because you know, you do it every fucking day, and you drag your carcass down the stairs past the fucking window, where the outside is, whatever the weather, you won’t get to see it anyway, and you lose again, and down you go, to chew on whatever fucking cardboard you got in a cardboard box to pour your industrial cow teat-juice onto, and you can barely fucking swallow, because you lose again, and you open your dreary fuck fridge door and look about for what you will swallow down again when the whistle blows for your lunch and you take whatever white or yellow, brown or purple, or green, or yellow or red, or fucking fleshy pink whatever the fuck carbohydrate and protein based squished together fuck is in there, you won’t taste it anyway, because you lose again, and you trudge out, still bleary eyed, or dry eyed, or painfully alert dependent on your morningness or eveningness of that drosophilic part of your brain, the part that drags the larvae to crawl out of the clot of meat into the sun, and you lose again, and you look around at the streets where you live, and you are outside, and actually that bit, that bit of movement might be okay actually, except then you think about the blackmail, blackmailed to rise, and blackmailed to work, and blackmailed to sleep, and blackmailed to lose again, the blackmail of normality and you lose again and so you go off to be blackmailed, and you might get into the car that is uniquely yours, that you get so angry with love for when you’re in it you might shout fuck a lot at anybody else driving another car, that they love so much they will shout fuck, fuck you you fuck, right back, and you fucking lose again, you might walk to work, which might be pleasant, if you are dressed for it, but you might not look up the whole way, because of the blackmail filling your fucking head and you lose again, or you might get the public fuck bus, where you sit with some fuck who pretends he or she isn’t on the bus with other people, and they sit as if they own the fuck bus, and they spread their legs wide out, or they start to sing to themselves, to the fuck music they are forcing you to hear, and you lose again, or you get the train, with a bunch of fucks in suits because they are the only ones who can afford the fuck train, and you see they can’t give two fucks that they are the ones powering the blackmail, because they are ones who think they are getting the best deal out of the blackmail, and fuck the rest of the fucks, the fucks who are being blackmailed worse, because they deserve the blackmail, and you get to the great prison of blackmail and say, hey how are you, to everybody like you did yesterday, and their faces say fuck we’re here because we’re being blackmailed, they have that shocked, beaten look of despair, but they pretend not to, because most people are also pretending, and some people might laugh sardonically at the blackmail, and some might shake their heads at the blackmail, and some might ignore the blackmail altogether, and some might be furious at being blackmailed and try to convince everybody else, fuck, we’re being blackmailed, and the people being blackmailed slightly less, because they are more into the blackmail say, shh. everybody, nobody is being blackmailed, if you don’t like being blackmailed, you can join the people who are being blackmailed worse than you are, and you lose again, and the whistle blows, and you go eat your sludge and you lose again, and you discuss the blackmail, with people, some of whom are still smiling because they seem to have reconciled themselves happily to the blackmail, but most of the people are barely swallowing their food because even if they don’t know, they can feel inside their guts the strangulation of blackmail, and you get through the afternoon with droopy eyelids through blackmail, and you lose again, and you go home to blackmail, or you go drink down enough to fend off the thoughts of blackmail, or you drown out the blackmail with whatever you drown the blackmail out with, and you lose again, and you clean your fuck teeth, and you take yourself off to sleep again, and you lose again.