Another Day of Happy Face Spikes

To live in the land of plastic surgery dreams,
facades carefully crafted to invent a paradise illusion
for the elite at the price of many,
who live to drive a spike through your heart,
adding at the end, “have a nice day.”

Being indentured to them for survival
how they let their New Age masks of calm
hide the ogres inside,
always so casual in their demands,
but you know if you didn’t do what they said
that they would never stop trying to ruin your life.

Burying you under mounds of reports
until you can’t stop the pressure headaches,
chest so tight you can barely breathe
when they stroll into your cubicle
toting their Starbuck’s paper chalice,
sipping on it as if it was a potion that gave them power.

Never offering you the same,
knowing you can’t afford the cost,
rambling on about their vacation plans
before reminding you that they need you to work overtime
and also weekends,
politely mentioning all the extra “assignments” needed done,
their vulture eyes giving that hint death waiting
anyone who doesn’t complete the tasks on time.

Waiting for them to leave
so I can drag me fantasy voodoo doll from my drawer,
just feels to good to strangle it as release of rage
imagining it is that worthless yuppie scum’s throat.

Still beats trying to pay for therapy,
happy to daydream about a day without feeling
as if there is an anvil upon my head.

Wonderland looks so perfect outside my office window
even better when I imagine
a scaffold erected for all the vain, greedy snakes
who keep me in a vice grip
dangling gloriously by a noose,
being the best medicine short of acting on my desires,
which gives some peace and keeps me having a paycheck.