You work too much–too often–too hard…
yet these late nights all meld into one:
fingers twitching, vision shaking,
and a developing mind on the brink of collapse.
It’s not really a proper job, though…
still, what’s the difference between being locked in a cubicle, shop, car–
and feeling trapped in your own bedroom?
At least you have plenty of free time…
but it never ends–there is no clock-out,
no brain switch-off; responsibilities writhe
in my dreams, haunting every hour of my life.
If I could work in bed, then…
then you would know the exhaustion, the brief triumphs, the lasting anxieties,
and how nothing is ever good enough.
Collage art by Alessandro Sacchi