These nine to fives get me by,
while I strive for the skies.
 I'm stuck smoking corporate dreams, high off all of these
 "get fat"s and "buy me"s.
No room to breath,
they're milking me clean,
leaving me sickly and green,
itching and screaming
 for one more taste
of President Greens'
paper thin happiness machine.
Sweating and stressing
the more I consume
the fatter my anxieties get.
Anorexic already,
I binge on this steady
idea of getting "ahead" ,
filling my head
so full of bullshit
I spew it all up
just to do it again.
 Every two weeks
repeating this cycle,
proving insanity's name
"Hi I'm Michelle.
   I'm hooked on Uncle Sam's 
  work hard for your money 
  lifestyle plan" 
I started out innocent and clean
and said
"that's never gonna be my scene,
   I'm going places money can't take me." Now I stand,
brainlessly dressed
 as a corporate bitch,
grinning my teeth,
trying to resist 
scratching the scratch
that won't stop to itch,
 I'm robotically hitched
and chained to the wall,
I lost all my marbles
when they yanked all my balls, 
 on my hands and knees already,
 except now
I can't even crawl.
I'm screaming back
at the echos that fall,
cracking up
and ready to bawl,
I grasp for my breath
 and breath nothing at all,
I have a voice,
if I could just rip off
this fucking shawl
 I'll grip my way out
of this cage
even if all I have
to rely on are claws
I'll muster up the scraps,
 scraping every inch
of heart and soul
 I have left,
forcing myself
to swallow my failures
and throw up my best.