“how work sucks in a deadend job”

Beneath the hum of buzzing lights I sit,  
Coffee cooling, mind adrift and split.  
Numbers march in endless, grey parade,  
Dreams dissolved in plastic cups of shade.

My hours drip through rusty hands of time—  
A clock that mocks with every shrill chime.  
Morning hope replaced with weary sighs,  
As memos fly and ambition quietly dies.

Bosses brief in jargon, thin and bland,  
While paychecks shrink and wishes disband.  
The “Promote Yourself!” posters peel and fade,  
Promising sunshine, delivering shade.

Yet in the break room’s half-hearted light,  
A joke is cracked, two wrongs feel right.  
A stolen smile, a toasted shared despair—  
Somehow, camaraderie lingers there.

But when the world outside calls my name  
(beyond thick glass dull as this old game),  
I dream: of green, of stars, of laughter free—  
Of what lies beyond this deadend’s spree.

Still, I watch the window, chase the spark,  
Desire flickers, surviving the dark.  
For hope, though quiet, is always near—  
It whispers: Someday. Anywhere but here.

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