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What is right? What is wrong?
I am who I am, but who am I? With age I’m
growing sick and tired of this constant pressure.
I wake to my wife, constantly complaining and
trying to tell me what is right and wrong.
It is hard. Especially when I don’t know what is
right and what is wrong. I tell Walter “boy, when
you grow old get out. Don’t waste no time.” But
I know I ain’t ever leaving. I love the hills. The mines
have become a part of me. The mines are me.
They’re my best and they’re my worst. They’re my
heaven and they’re my hell. I tell my fellow coworkers
“the world is one day going to blow up, it is
one day going to cave in. But unlike the
rest of the world we will be ready” What people
call hell, we call home. The mines bring out
our best and worst. I wonder if Catharine knows I’m
at the bar after work everyday. Steve the bartender
is my friend, so I drink for free. I don’t waste any
money, but Catharine doesn’t know that. I’m too
embarrassed to tell her that I drink to escape my hell. It is hard
to both hate and love your hell. It is hard to gather
your thoughts. It is hard to know what is right?
It is hard to know what is wrong?
It is hard to know who am I?
