Work in a factory seems so second class. The repetition of tasks leaves my mind gasping for air. My creativity rises as I itch the scratch to thrive. Other faces look deadened by the tedious jobs. I found an escape for this holiday job. Through writing I can ale the symptoms of lifelessness while running in the rat race. Sitting quietly at the start line with my paper and ink.
Revalations
Killing time as I go to waste, can't you see how dreadful this place
No creativity flowing, they only want mids droning
I want to escape and be done with this charade
Enough of the chase of a livable wage
I fear for my mind and my being, the others around not perceiving
What lies ahead, just an old dead end full of broken virtue
Promises of power and money mean nothing with absence of the workforce behind it
Recognition of work seems like a folly, encouraging ones to rat on each other
Gaining only words of confidence to fuel their ego
No monetary gain just a simple, "You're great, god bless, and thank you"
The thundering bass of the press, steam hissing away
Causing minds to sync and not create a new way
Stay with the synthetic flow, don't break from the hive
Keeping your movements robotic, your thought follow suit
The boom of the press means it's time to stack parts
Like dogs and a bell the whistle sounds, we rush to the break room
Taking our places, sipping coffee well after noon
They speak of their traps that force them to stay
A sectioned off wall for rats in their maze, an open mind would surely run away
I work through their tunnels with an impressionable mind, trying to view the reasons I cannot find
I banter with others as a means of abstract escape
I won't lose openness or my will to survive, keeping the thought that I'm not part of this hive.