"Something inside me is breaking
Something inside says there’s somewhere better than this…"~Five for Fighting

The alarm clock. I'd like to think who ever made this contraption had a horrible life and wanted others to experience the dread he went through every morning. However, there it was with zeros a blaze in red like the devil's own eyes singing a tortuous song out the top of its head. A song that is eerie, haunting and yet familiar at the same time. Putting on my suit I can't help but wonder who is that kid staring at me. Who is that shaggy blonde hair, green eyed boy, with a couple days facial stubble? He's wearing a suit much like mine and a tie I too remember seeing in my closet. It just doesn't look right. Outside it is dark and quiet. Lonely. Motor city at this hour is still a sleeping industrial giant. Its gears and pistons will wake up later, for now I am the one moving. My car is covered with a layer of ice, much like the grime that builds on my eyes overnight. With a little scraping it'll be removed. It too, like eyes will take awhile to fully shed the extra weight.

The road is a combination of expansion joints and potholes with a bit of concrete in-between. A back massage at this hour would be great, but one not this rough. We live in a world as ants. We are marching our little feet not really paying attention to what's around but only ahead. The company checkbook is our queen. If we don't sustain our queen we die. We are greedy and follow what we believe is the road paved with gold. We drive with our eyes gazed ahead with our worries riding shotgun and our dreams taking a back seat.

The backseat. Where as kids we would sit looking out gazing at the exciting surroundings. Now those same stores and buildings are nothing more than concrete and steel created for one use. To put clones like myself in them, with a cup of coffee in one hand and a report in the other. We strive to become successful all the while forgetting what defines someone as successful. Glancing in the rearview mirror I catch the reflection of my own eyes. There's still a bit of glimmer in them and still a bit of mischief. It's not will power, it's just a slight turning of the wheel to the right. In white painted font on a bright green rectangular background, the sign glows like a beacon. Exit.