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Rated: E · Poetry · Dark · #2143955
Yet still I work.
The sun stares down onto me.
My eyes burn as I screech a silent yawn.
Daylight giggles merrily as it roasts my skin,
Reminding me that work must be done.
My legs scrape across the ground,
Yet still I walk.
My hands lie bloody and broken,
Yet still I fight.
Ooze drips from my lips,
Yet still I scream.
I suppose I'll sleep in my dreams.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2143955-Work