On Mondays I feel invincible,
until I don’t.
Sometimes.
I go to work and slave the time away,
and eat and drink, as I’m supposed to.
But then I return und feel full, not just nurtured,
feel properly saturated, watered and fertilized.
It makes me sick.
Because no matter how many wholesome meals,
and HR approved activities,
genuine customer interactions,
and gamified tasks,
and serene pictures on the office walls,
I found my personal hell.
Sending emails up the hill for a better Outlook,
my kidney julietted,
by tasteless executions.
Staring at me,
the deep blue on my desktop –
want to restart…
but shut down instead,
and everyone’s windows are closed,
until another day,
of mindless tasks and trials,
and serials und secret passwords,
is hushed away with a patch that doesn’t fix
what my soft little hardware cannot process.
A life in operated systems,
of keys that lock us down,
to silent screens with HD sheens,
like mice chasing a cursor,
that crave to be unplugged,
find a beauty in the search,
and pleasure on the pad.
Just Listen, their excitement,
is left and right,
is every click,
a melody of joy,
a song you cannot spotify,
the tune of your employ.
