worked me over like a tool
and said it was great.
just, absolutely lovely.
thought it was over;
told me they wasn’t done with this yet.
took a play from the childhood,
we’ve checked back out
i’ll let you know when this is over.
this seems to be familiar saga,
i’ve heard this so many times,
we dyin to get out!
this breath is crushing me.
i need it all the way off me. out of me. now.
why is surviving to die like this?
why are they all just. so mean. hurtful. doubtful.
can you believe some even think its a joke. they laugh real hard too.
ya know – yeah i know – until it hits home.
they want us to speak when it’s convenient,
but are they even listening? well, are you?
i can breathe again. but i don’t want to inhale just yet.
i need to hold my breathe until
after i drag myself up these steps,
after the 6 hour shower,
after the countless ‘we’ll be okay,’
after 5 more showers,
after falling alseep
hoping i wash away with every drip of disgust,
then i can do it.
then i can allow this breath to remind me
that i’m alive,
that i have to remember now. everyday.
even when they come in to work the next day,
“hey boss.” gotta smile, gotta smile.
fuck this.
why do i have to eat?
cuz if you don’t eat, then you die.
and if you die then they’ll just say,
“well. you were just so inefficient – at your job i mean.”
how about the inefficient jag off who said they’d do something about it,
excuse me as i hold my breath again.


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