The Gratuity of Sanity

The corporate manual grants a single solar arc to mend the fractured bone
To scrub the soot of sixty hours from a heart that turned to stone
I sit in silence while the dishwasher performs its rhythmic metal hum
Counting the frantic minutes until my brain becomes entirely numb
The spreadsheet ghosts are screaming from the corner of the dark kitchen sink
I am allowed these twenty-four hours to pretend I do not have to think
I am a well-oiled cog in a machine that feeds on human sleep and skin
A temporary reprieve from the administrative chapel of our collective sin
The evening arrives with the taste of copper
and the smell of industrial rain
I am preparing the harness to accommodate the familiar
and steady pain
The day of mercy was a joke told by a hangman to a desperate crowd
A temporary silence before the machinery cranks back loud
I lace my boots and check the time while the last hour ticks itself away
I am the property of the company
and this was just a different kind of pay