this is your workstation,
prison, cubicle. This is where you die.
your soul keeps the steel spinning
crimson keeps on spilling
creatures keep on feeding
keep on living on pills, waiting at tills
to feed your insatiable habits
like a, halibut, habitually hopping on to the next fad
The black on your nail’s cuticle
just postponing your nation’s funeral.
I’m Herod.
Just kidding, it’s Harold
Relax, it’s only your first day
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