10 December 2011

Death of a Manager

Fading in elusive as midnight breeze
The sharp needles of overworked lungs stabbing breaths
A head full of a million ideas
a few less tasks
and no ideas left to own

The pain has become innumerable
Was this what it felt to fight front line
Even though the cause lacked any sensibility
Beyond the lining of others pockets
Still the pain was all but too real
Either individual organs were giving up
Struggling under the pressure of machines
Constant lying and conspiracy
Fighting against the workers
Or the whole body is doomed
Rotting away for a chance to pay to live

The hours are longer than they should be by more than double
People interfere like a child attacking an ants nest
Desperate to find a part of something that has no reason to be
We drone onwards towards a goal that doesn't exist
Merely the end of a day and that fateful day
Celebration when the walking dead are celebrated

Pay day is our capitalist holiday
We arrive at work all the same
With a sense of justice
As if what we have endured was worth it all
As if a dying husk was worth a healthier pocket
and things to call our own

It's not
It was all lies
Seeing through the lies
Creating unrest and discontent
Truth reveals itself through muffled rage

We have dammed ourselves
To unrequited servitude

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