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Sunday evening, it's time to sleep
Monday starts another week
Tuesday I am out with a swing
Hard at work doing my thing,
Wednesday I am working late
Carrying bricks for a house to make.
On this ladder climbing high
When I come down I'll take a break ,
I hope this day will soon pass by
Those building bricks just multiply,
Wow! Thursday now is getting near
One more night then Friday's here
I am thinking of that ice cold beer
Raising a glass giving a cheer,
I hope this day will soon fly by
On Friday night's my mouth gets dry
When in the pub I put things right
Away with the fairies all of the night
Monday morning it will keep
Then off to work for another week,
For now I am in this pub so nice
It's my Friday night in paradise
jas Feb 2018
lately
what's been on my mind
every time
that im high

stuck
with my head in the clouds
aint no way I'm coming down

my faults are what made me
the truth is what gave me
a sense of reality

im high,
doing fine
without you
by my side

and im never coming down

high
like a kite
fireworks on the fourth of July
this time
its all mine

as long as I'm high
day 35/ Feb. 6
Amber K Feb 2018
"Hello, how are you?"
I say in a voice I can't believe is mine.
I hate it so much.
It's become like nails on a chalkboard to my ears.

I ask the human in front of me,
"What can I get you today?"
They ignore me.
Finally someone approaches.

It's an older lady,
gray bushy hair with wild eyes.
I smile and begin to take her order.
She begins to make rude remarks towards me.

She leaves,
someone else approaches.
It's a man angry about a price I did not set.
He takes it out on me.

I take all of the verbal punches.
From people who have had their worst days,
to people who are just too privileged to give a little kindness,
I smile through it all.

I don't really think anyone who walks in,
really sees me as a human being.
They don't see that I fight social anxiety for a living,
or that I go through things too.

They don't care.
They don't want to care.
When they ask how I am,
they don't want an honest answer.

I wonder if they would smile,
or compliment me instead of insulting me,
if I weren't standing behind a counter,
taking orders and giving change.
Working with the public is rough. I've had the job I  have right now for awhile and everyday I am still shocked at how customers (and bosses) treat workers at restaurants. I try to smile and be kind to every customer service worker I ever come in contact with, because it can definitely get to you if you have people insulting you or treating you like crap from 7 in the morning until 3 in the evening.
Colm Jan 2018
I always wanted to work in a place
Where if it surpasses me
I could walk out of an open door, into the woods
And walk away from everything
Until I am surrounded by trees
And so I am, surrounded by trees
Away from that place and all that it means
Because walking is part of a walking life
And no shoelace ever remains fully tied
The air feels cooler after that
Colm Jan 2018
A desk is a chain
And a door a weight amongst a wait
And yet men and women chain themselves
To merely familiar similar fates
On a daily basis they do base
Their admirations on those without chains
But it couldn’t be
That IT were THEY
That freedom were found in a more free way
Here to breaking patterns. Destroying expectations. Ans freeing yourself from the forgetful because.
Laurel Leaves Nov 2017
I don't want to talk about it really

I was just sitting on the grey couch
While he sat across from me with a pen and paper
And we were laughing
Laughing about how
I never really had to watch someone slowly die
Because everyone I've cared about that's passed
Was shot point blank
Close range
And my therapist giggled
As the morbid humor rushed out of me
And it kind of just echoed through the small dimly lit room

Until I started to scream
Crying hysterically
He just looked at me slowly
Realizing the moment had quickly passed
And turned into a very visceral flashback

He's trying to talk me down but all I could see
Was the footage looping over and over again
In my head
Why was he holding a knife yelling 'dont shoot'
Why the **** was he holding a knife?


So no,
I don't really want to talk about it.
I just want to lie here and focus on the pressure you're applying to my chest
While you hold me
Wrap your arms around me
So I can finally fall asleep.
I think it was August. The leaves we're starting to fall but it was hot outside.
I think he was on coke but he still shouldn't have died.
Bryan Oct 2017
He picks up the pennies,
everywhere he goes.
Pieces of bigger things:
the fragments of the whole.
There never was a miracle
too small to behold,
and so he kept every one,
and every one made him bowed.
The others all around him,
seemed happy in their role,
but he knew only backache,
toil, and toll.
He carried his burden,
as vast as he, old.
Too large to conceal,
he never let it go.
He slept on coin pillows
the color of mold
and defended his treasure
with a vigor so bold
that ten men together
should endeavor to hold.

One day while counting,
the man, in his home,
heard a noise from the ceiling
that sounded of groan.
He dashed for his pennies,
as groan grew to moan
and was crushed under rains
of money he owed.
chloe fleming Oct 2017
There’s something sadistic about cigarettes,
and the way they fondled your hands
like the way you used to ****** me,
hard and rough.
There’s something sadistic about the way they ****,
slow and steady,
like your words and how you purred them into my ears.
Their smell, coats and lingers for what can seem like years.
Just like your Old Spice body and strawberry scented hair,
because 4 years later the scent sticks to my nostrils
like a child clings to their mother.
There’s just something sadistic about the way a cigarette can look so **** good on you.
A fashion accessory, licensed to ****
the gang worked assiduously
on ridding their so called
domain
of those who'd not tow the line
or be compliant with their
refrain

they expended much energy
more especially the two in
charge
the methods they employed
had the characteristics of a
barge

pushing out others so they'd
obtain all the popularity
hits
could be said they were lower
than nine hundred feet
pits  

they're now ever so contended
with a job that was well
executed
sitting back feeling so satisfied
smugness in what's been
prosecuted

it is supposed that they'll keep
toiling for supremacy's
edge
whilst at the same time driving
a very disagreeable
wedge
Belle Aug 2017
How does the world expect you not to **** yourself?
I do not understand why we are put on this earth.
We are born and we already have expectations put into us, then we are put into school by the age of four.
Forced to stand in line like some militia.
We get 30 minutes of free time then are summoned by a whistle and teachers go down checking to make sure we are all aligned.
Tell me how that sounds moral!
We are in school for another 14 years after that, and it just gets harder.
Soon, teachers start choosing favorites and start telling you that you're not good enough, smart enough, or quick enough. You try to do a sport you love only to be told "somebody else was better."
Your friends start to leave you to go join a different group of friends and all you get is a subtle wave and half smile as you walk down the hallway.
You graduate high school and move onto college.
Another four years of school.
Maybe nursing, maybe education, maybe psychology.
Whatever it is it's preparing you for a job that you have to have the rest of your life.
You don't get to have fun everyday.
You have to work, and though they say "the right job is fun." The right job is stressful. The right job is hard. The right job is still a daily struggle. The right job is still a constant battle!
Why were we put on this earth only to continue working, and making our life into one big unhappy nightmare?
Yet, when someone say they want to **** themselves, everyone replies, "oh but the world is so wonderful."
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