Sunday, April 26, 2015

The Mule

Sometimes,
I just want to be taken care of,
not even aware of
the heavy saddle draped
in between my worn shoulder blades,
torturing myself with
social media vortexes
causing a sore head
as I see my friends
live life while I
work through mine in many mines

I am tired of holding the pickaxe
representing a social pact
that says
work to death and you might be rewarded
with a hard-earned respite,
instead I taste vicarious vomit
watching others get theirs
handed to them with little effort,
so I slave for responsibility:
life's most ruthless despot.

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