Written at work

It’s most most boring pretending to be me

The discourse is tight

everybody else is always right

always I’m left slapping my face playfully.

There’s little I can do when I pretend

I’m on a track with no train, only bends

It’s a circle with one trick

I’m a flea with a tick

I’m full on pathetic

when I only pretend.

I can’t be me throughout the entire working day

It’s impossible my love, i’d never arrive at the job

avoiding anything that hit my dislike, people especially, even though they intrigue…

To combat the boredom I increase my eccentric

participating only in the eclectic menagerie of a hectic scenic impressionistic dream…!

There’s so many things that prevent what I am about

Its hard not to go mental, my life tantamount

to a pile of shit

narrated by Stanley Kubrick

where I hop on the merry-go-round

of silent sound

to a broken destination