autopilot

It's 6 am, the hours of the night have burnt away.
He remembers a dreamless sleep, filled with a void so infinite.
He peels himself of the bed and instinctively trudges to the kitchen where he puts on the kettle.
He's on autopilot as he brushes his teeth, staring into the mirror that reflects someone he can no longer recognize.
Slipping on his favourite jeans.... right leg first, then left.....as always, he looks for a shirt to wear, one that might just make him feel good...feel something...anything!!!
The coffee gets cold on the kitchen counter, and he's running late.
He leaves the flat... gets on the bus.... listening to a CD that drowns out the rest of the world.
Work has become routine and life has turned clockwork.
He might as well be one of the walking dead.
He's afraid of change.... he's afraid to feel.
He knows he's lost, he's looking for something but doesn't know what and can't think where to begin.
Thought he'd find it in a girlfriend,but she just amplified the chaos.
Thought he would seek 'it' out in sex, but sex just temporarily anaesthesized the emptiness that was consuming him.
The more he srcutinizes, the more fucked up and tangled everything gets.
So why bother he thinks.....he'd rather walk the earth with a fortress for a heart and a plastic smile on his face.