Eliana Rampage
troll killer
- Joined
- Jan 13, 2010
- Messages
- 639
- Reaction score
- 0
Hey all! <3 Hope you enjoy this angry poem.
Ah, for the joys and wonders of office “life”.
Tortuously sip that coffee until the last bean runs dry.
Clad in anything but denim and a cotton tee
Those are cursed paraphernalia
That are one-way tickets to Styx.
plastic roses adorn shelves
dying to be something more
than the manufactured dreams
and toils of a working class hero.
They prostitute themselves on cherry-wood desks,
Or
Cold metal where no iambic beat is to be found.
Just the unearthly bed spreading of snow white
Printer paper
That covers your naked bodies
In the dead of night
Whilst you dream of the upcoming day
Where you die your life out
In the mouse-lab your superiors built
For you.
Losing blood
For the success that you seek
And the monotony monster
Takes its toll
Upon the glazed souls
You sacrificed in the name of glory.
Your war drums pound
In the form of keyboards
Clicking and tapping away as
Pacifist guns in disguise.
You who think you’re so clever
So very witty and formal
Mount your noble steed
And don gold-threaded suits of armor
Parading through the town
Like an armada of proud martyrs,
Spilling forth your righteous deeds from
goblets of wine and whiskey.
The drudges bow
kissing your holy toes
with their putrid lips
chapped from centuries of low-life.
Doomed to work in fields of
suburban labor and poverty
for they have not transcended
their pathetic state.
I dance in purgatory
One leg halfway through the
Pearly white gates
Pretending to listen
To the lies that broil through your teeth.
Ah, for the joys and wonders of office “life”.
Tortuously sip that coffee until the last bean runs dry.
Clad in anything but denim and a cotton tee
Those are cursed paraphernalia
That are one-way tickets to Styx.
plastic roses adorn shelves
dying to be something more
than the manufactured dreams
and toils of a working class hero.
They prostitute themselves on cherry-wood desks,
Or
Cold metal where no iambic beat is to be found.
Just the unearthly bed spreading of snow white
Printer paper
That covers your naked bodies
In the dead of night
Whilst you dream of the upcoming day
Where you die your life out
In the mouse-lab your superiors built
For you.
Losing blood
For the success that you seek
And the monotony monster
Takes its toll
Upon the glazed souls
You sacrificed in the name of glory.
Your war drums pound
In the form of keyboards
Clicking and tapping away as
Pacifist guns in disguise.
You who think you’re so clever
So very witty and formal
Mount your noble steed
And don gold-threaded suits of armor
Parading through the town
Like an armada of proud martyrs,
Spilling forth your righteous deeds from
goblets of wine and whiskey.
The drudges bow
kissing your holy toes
with their putrid lips
chapped from centuries of low-life.
Doomed to work in fields of
suburban labor and poverty
for they have not transcended
their pathetic state.
I dance in purgatory
One leg halfway through the
Pearly white gates
Pretending to listen
To the lies that broil through your teeth.
