The sun shines brightly outside but my curtains remain closed. <br />Fatigue speaks to me and tells me to rest my head but my mind tells me to get a job. <br />My heart tells me to write a novel and fear tells me I won’t make it. <br /> <br />Then I open my curtains and the sun beams in and I begin to roll a cigarette. As I spark it up and inhale the smoke I realise that it doesn’t matter what I do as long as I have £75 for the landlord at the end of the week. <br /> <br />I already have that in the bank and I did my shopping yesterday, so the truth is nothing really matters, nothing except this god damn cigarette.<br /><br />Nathan Strange<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/it-doesn-t-really-matter/
