Whore your mind
for the good of the
establishment.
Swallow your distaste.
Like so much stale beer.
Turn a blind eye as the spawn of the boss
skims from the corporate account.
To feed his demon.
His eyes red with the hue of despiration.
Plod through another day in this
corp o ration
night mare.
Don't look up, or someone might see
the revusion in your gaze.
Don't open your mouth, or someone might hear
The bitter scorn in your tone.
Don't listen to the whispers in the lunchroom
or you might become
an accomplice
to this
raging machine.
