Life contained
Containers occupy the spaces I call my life. From the coffee mug that kicks me awake in the mornings To the fat beer bottle that knocks me off reminding me that I am only human and I need to call it a night. Or a day. I open shampoo and soap bottles to wash off the smell of cigarettes also kept in a tin box to hide the hideous habit from the morals of the world, juxtaposing my stand because I smoke in public anyway. The deodorant to the lotion I apply on my skin the first to keep it dry and the second to save it from dryness and shrivel, And humiliation from people I do not even know, much less care about. The clothes I put on that cover my body also conform To the weather, to where I am going. I travel to the office in an enclosed vehicle full of strangers Or if I have the money with just the taxi driver and myself So I can go to another container where I can earn back what I paid the taxi. My office room contains my body 8-5. My thoughts and ...