Poetry Submission #2

I don't need this job.
I don't need this aching,
This trapped feeling screaming,
Echoing cries of empty frustration
Pumping, racing through my veins.

I don't need this job.
These happy faces hiding
Soulless zombie robots infecting
The very air I breathe is contaminated
By the ever-growing presence of slow, quiet death.

I don't need this job.
The bathroom breaks just to try escaping
The pain of the open, gaping wound
My heart, my essence, my life has become
Nothing more than an automated recording
Repeating endless lies to satisfy no higher purpose.

I. Don't. Need. This. Job.
This job needs me, only surviving,
Perpetually thriving from the life I breathe into it
The bonds of self-imposed slavery
Society (?) refuses to free me from.

I don't need this job.
This job needs me.