Roulette.

Is it me, or are my poems slowly getting longer?

Roulette

Well I wake up in the morning,

And search for some inspiration,

As the sun is slowly dawning,

Bringing light across the nation,

Then I drag myself out of bed,

And attempt to awake my mind,

I'd rather be asleep instead,

Of participating in the daily grind,

But I've got some obligations,

That I'd rather aim to fill,

If just to avoid the accusations,

Even if they'll be made still,

So I push myself down the stairs,

Take a moment or two to recover,

And avoid the questioning glares,

From an overly concerned mother,

Who likes to ask me about my day,

While usually I would have no objection,

It feels like the world is going out of it's way,

To distract me from my direction,

Already, I'm five minutes late,

As the clock is counting down,

I just know the bus wont wait,

And I'll end up waiting around,

I make a quick dash for the door,

But of course,

I get called back inside once more,

And with no remorse,

It seems I forgot to pack a book,

Which in my frenzied hurry,

Had been so easy to overlook,

Now I really start to worry,

Finally, I step onto the street,

And curse how today feels the same,

As will the next day that I meet,

Unless I can find some money or some fame,

As is the nature of this life,

It's just like playing roulette,

You can just hope that for you it's rife,

With matches of your hopes getting met.