CLOCKWORK SHEEP

June 2019

Trapped on a path
to a nuclear family, 

An office down the hall with no soul and a swivel chair

and PIN number access to money that isn't really there.

A terraced house with 3 shoe box rooms and no fresh air.

A dog, once a beast, whimpers frantically

on a lifeless patio 2 metres squared.

And a view of someone’s real estate suspended in the sky. Somewhere to spunk their cash injection in view of jealous eyes.

A glass fronted, pleasure stunted, procrastination Petri dish, painted solely in white. Through which to observe a monotonous herd obliviously wasting time.
We take a deep breath, bite our tongue, close our eyes
But don't think to question, why we’re losing our minds.

We sleepwalk like zombies trailing dreams through the dirt 

We march in time to our own funeral dirge. I thought I was above it, but I’m slowly admitting defeat. Joining the flock of 

clockwork sheep.