screwball

I sit on this stool,
broken by obesity.
not mine but
someone else's.

my spirit is bogged
down with expectations.
sunday, a day of rest
and yet here I am.
facing the obnoxious,
the ignorant.

work is a 24/7 adventure
customers interrupt my
every thought. spewing
sorry cliches and ridiculous
questions that they ask
on every visit.

I despise them almost
as much as I despise
my life path. desperately
needing to choke the last
gasp of air from
their blackened lungs.

glazed eyes of stupidity
stare at me incessantly.
windows into dead souls
eating at my sanity that remains.

I want to scream
at every person I encounter,
to pelt them with acid balloons,
to burn them
at the stake.

an itch, to call someone
to talk to someone special
but I fear that my anger
my animosity toward all
of humanity will frighten her.

no escape. no outlet.
I cannot get away
from them or my feelings
of servitude. I'm an emotional
slave and I want to die.
or for them to die.

nothing happens. and so,
I sit on this stool,
broken by obesity.
not mine but,
someone else's