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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

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