My life is not worth money

To work is to die

it’s a misuse of clock

I wait and I roll

and I rock

Only to find I am no longer

spontaneous

Through the dream of death I think

In reveries I am borderline neurotic,

switched off…

No longer a fully fledged human being,

I fling myself from one

vertebra

to

the

other

I have dizzy spells of

nausea

and conversing is quite often surreal

Known them for too long or judged in an instant

what is warranted I no longer feel

Come the third shift in a row

I suicide over and more

It’s no longer a creative act, so finely honed is the maiming of my limbs

the quartering of my jaw

to be alive is forgotten and to be inspired is to be a naked mole rat!

I become granite

I embody the life of a subservient little lab-twat!