Workday

A day in the life of a working man.

i come to sit at my desk,
struggling through the maze of untamed,
cars and bikes and silly proud footmen
who seem to believe they are made of iron.

i look over your desk,
to see myself as if you are a mirror,
a clear one at that, you show me
little cuts i made during shave today.

i look over to the bosses office,
and his overdressed secretary, a cruel beauty
she is , like a demoness with fangs
supple breasts and dark eyes.

i look to the boss, a happy man
he seems, i do not know him.
his happiness grows as he sinks his
teeth deeper into my hosting body.

oh! a day gone by without rest,
i am tired and sick, i search for answers
within these walls, i seek forever
but i will not find, for i am a worker.