Plan B, ltd.

Amidst cacophonic click-clack and chatter
I sit sweat-necked, pale-faced at the thought of
another 8 hour slog
through the dank plastic world of false airs and self-denial.
Burned and blinded by fluorescent sunlight,
my thirst quenched by a ten cent cup of coffee
that I’ll bet hasn’t been a bean in years.

This is where you go when things don’t work out.
Plan B limited.
Our motto: Dehumanise yourself and
join the bloodshed!

Break yourself upon the wheel.
Cracktwist yer elbow backways.
Bind your wrist to your upper arms with heavy rope
and feel it rub and burn against your skin
as bone protrudes from near the joint;
a sickening glimpse of reddy-yellowwhite.
Hum a happy tune to help you forget.
Repeat this with your other limbs
and then you’re set.

A career and a salary, some folks see as holy grails
which other poor bastards use like nails.
Hammered bloody through their hands and feet
to make their entrapment more complete.

I’m gone soon. I know this isn’t me.
I’ll never go back! Never ever! I’m free!
But after one look in a lifer’s eyes
You can see yourself deep inside.
And, yeah, the money’s nice,
that’s true.
But I pray there’s ways to live
without hating what you do.

Plan B, ltd.