Thoughts of Frustration from the Job Hunt

Chewed up and spit out;
Masticated
By the weight of the world
In exchange for the (cha-ching!)
Of payday.

Money prison
Slaves to the game
Of the waves
And sways
Of what they say
You have to pay
From the hours of your day
And the sweat of your soul;
Who you're allowed to become
In exchange for it all
Based on their bias
Of elitist group proofs
Of if you can ever
Deserve to truly
Be treated human.

They push you around
Taking more and more away
From your heart,
From your mind,
From your day to day
While fragments of your self
Splinter away
And decay
Like the scabs of yesterday;
Scarred today
Numb to the purity
Of innocence
That magic exists
Somewhere behind the insanity
Of reality.

The myth persists on the back of exploitation.

Democracy exists as a parody of representation.

While we try to subsist on scraps of what-ifs
Like dogs at the feet of the fat cats nation.

Slaves to the game
In exchange
For the (cha-ching!)
Of payday.