The walls are melting, but its a routine

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I sit down and my spark fades.
My back aches, my brain atrophy's, my legs scream.
There's a pressure in my temples.
Boredom ripples up my back.
I cannot sit.

"Is it time for snack?"
"Is it time for lunch?"
"Is it time to go home?"
I sit and wait for days to end, weeks to pass.
Flowers wither and die inside my mind.

I imagine flipping a table, throwing a chair through a window.
I wonder what it would be like to carve a hole through the wall with a hammer, just to say "hi" to Bill.
Maybe if I stare at the walls long enough and hard enough I'll start to hallucinate.
That would be interesting.

"I wish you would get out of my office."
"I wish you wouldn't speak."
"Why don't you just fire me?"

I feel guilty.
I should do some work.
"You're just being negative."
"You're making it worse for yourself."

"I am happy. I am positive. I am happy, I am happy."
Fuck!!
"I cannot sit!! I can't fucking sit!!"
"Why am I doing this?"
"Will it ever end?"

A poem I wrote to myself a few years ago when I hated my job and my life.