From 9 to 5 the bilboes tighten,
a range of cacoethes spin my mind,
but to pay the bills, I work,
not just to fill the time.

The clepsydra has gone dry,
even as time passes it stands still,
at the end of the day the shackles open,
but I go home with no thrill.

A vidiot at home,
my thoughts spaghettified,
****** into the nothingness,
all of them undignified.

I long for something different,
to degust the spice of life,
but trapped inside the blandness,
nothing here but rife.