Even my heroes

Even my heroes dream happier dreams than me. Kerouac saw beauty in every light and life, Burroughs saw the same greasy sexuality, Ginsburg dragged everyone into his sybarite ways. I dream of the impossible easy score. I dream of drugs and money and easy sex, like other people dream of promotions and things worked hard for. I have nothing on the workers of the world. Even my hardest work seems a sham as I pray for the lottery to solve all my problems for me. I buy more expensive scotch as I earn more money. I am unhappy right now, and I know it's because I'm bored. I was happier working at the job I hated, the hours anyway. 70 hours a week no weekends no choice no liberty, but the action. The energy and tired sore nights left me happier to be home some few hours a week than anything prior. I just have to work myself half to death to enjoy living.