thejackal

Were the sleep cleansed from my eyes
And had I not come to find
That I was caught in the wrong place and time
I would have fallen victim to the grind...

This white collar nightmare
Caffeine injected veins...
The drones work; no we don't care.
The look in their eyes is always the same.

These mediocre glances hide bitter stares...
We sit chained to blue lit monitors; a rat race existance.

Something so normal in my depression
Yet so strange in my Expression
The need to breathe my last confession
Gives me ease in my decision...

I'm gone.