Graveyard of the living.
Where you sit
struggling to make ends meet,
as computers bleep
and you are worked off your feet..
Where you have to beg for just a few pennies more,
beg too much and they will show you the door.
Graveyard of the living.
The clock ticks slowly around.
Losing sleep.
Alarms ring their blaring sound.
Rushing, to line the pockets of those who
would rather replace you
with a CPU,
some silicon chips and monitor to view
all of the numbers as they soar
higher than numbers ought to do.
The graveyard of the living.
Cubicles and monitor glare,
acid smiles in the demon’s lair.
The managers without a care.
The graveyard of the living.
Dead end stares.
Three-mile Island air.
Radio waves,
Wi-Fi fried brains on parade.
The graveyard of the living.
40 plus years give or take a few
and they will take the best of you.
Rushing to be on time,
toilet break when they say its fine.
Overtime when they are on top,
laid off when the work starts to drop.
And for what,
a cheap knock off wristwatch
and a bottle of plonk.
Graveyard of the living.
Wage slaves in the red,
limping along to the drone in their head.
The walking dead.
Stumbling to their fates,
the graveyard of the living
qhere the crypt keeper waits.
Twenty more years, if you’re lucky.
Shame you couldn't enjoy them in your prime,
something smells funny.
It's just the passing of time.
Thanks for reading
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