That Feeling I Get, Only On Sunday

The following is a poem that I wrote tonight.  It compliments my inner struggles as of late and I thought I would share it with the world. 

Dawn is approaching; my mind weighs heavily
Realization and dread begin to set in,
For it is back to the grind on Monday!
And the Slavery still reigns.
The legalized plantation with their snickering smiles and judgemental eyes.

The "Man" craves the robotic feast.
So he eats and eats and eats some more,
Until his belly is full and there is nothing left.
But his consumption is never ending,
we're on "life's" belt and moving toward his awaiting mouth.

The darkness surrounds us, one by one,
In the belly of the beast we boil and writhe.
One by one they (we) continue to fall,
The belly becomes quickly overpopulated.
Crowded in the abyss, flesh upon flesh,
We are joined, we are one!

But with many minds, and only one "man",
We strive and learn to fight,
Or burn in his acidic abode.
Yes, some give up.
Others become complacent.
Most will eventually perish.

The remaining few, with the idea in mind,
begin to fight.

We scratch.  We crawl.  We climb.

Some fall, others are trampled in the riot.
The few that make it up the throat, give up and die,
Only to be swallowed again.

At long last, one warrior stands alone,
Just at the top of the "Man's" tongue.

Freedom is his.
He can sense it.
He can see it.

With one swift, and powerful motion,
the tongue, like a serpent, coils.
He's like a pinball, bouncing off the fleshy walls.

Thrown into the air.
Free falling, descending back into darkness,
Back into the belly of the beast, back into the machine.
Back into the awaiting cesspool.
There's no end to nothingness.

Back to reality now.
And the impending doom,
That tomorrow is near.