Commodity of Soul

Wake up

Time to live

Time to blind yourself with daily costumes

Time to walk the plank of existence

Take the ride through the unearthed roadway paved with the souls of past times

As you arrive at your personal hellground, your time-card is stamped, and humanity is left at the door where hope lies decapitated

After that

You are you no longer

And worst yet

There's an audience leisurely observing your soul withering away with unsympathetic eyes

Or perhaps

Not even a look at all

Not even a single word of gratitude would mutter from their piggish, ill-passionate lips

Only to return to the Cycle of Indignity over and over again


You're hungry

But no time to feed

You're tired

But no time to rest

No time to laugh

NO TIME to live


For prayer is the assassin

And when the era of winter arrives

And if this torturous cycle never ends day after day

What happens if your reservoir is then drained of its contents

What if there's nothing to enjoy

Could it mean that your life's conclusion is becoming nothing but an empty husk sitting in a shadowed corner, twitching helplessly due to life's pointless hard labor

Only at the expense of

The Extortion of You

The Commodity of Soul

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I was inspired to write this one after my year's long labor at a supermarket. Sunflower Foods, ugh, I still shutter at the name...

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