I never looked at their empty faces.
I kept my breath rancid to detour people walking by,
and insulted the few people that stuck around.

Why the hell would they possibly care about me?

After the day is over I’ll lock myself up in a dingy room.
In there no phones television or anybody else could bother me.
I’ll let my guard down for a few hours before going to work.

Then I’m back at the slaughterhouse.

Being alive is just a stale convoluted joke,
but I’m still laughing at it.