The job is eating me alive,
quickly gobbling the days that remain,
callously stuffing them into its craw
like an obscene abattoir time pate'.

Each back-breaking, stress-filled day
makes me long for the days to fly by.
They slip from my grip as if greased.
I can't really hold on to my life.

Time away from the job isn't mine.
I have to recover and get ready to return.
Filled with errands and chores the job defers,
there's never any time for my turn.

So my life isn't mine at all.
It's the property of a faceless corporation.
I can only glimpse days slipping past
and wish that I could have inhabited them.

I know now why people commit suicide.
There's really no life to be taken.
And when you're already dead they can't hang you
for theft of time from the damn corporation.