7 days later I quit my job

the last time i had written a poem i was a whore, fucking every random verse, my skin layered with the grimness of flaws. now in a shiny blue box (with a lid) i am slowly oozing ectoplasm.

“i will vanish,” i promise what remains of me.

there goes my toes, my legs, my fingers. there goes my arms. there goes my chest, my half-bitten face. the blue butterflies are gone. my best friend doesn’t take my calls.

“did you see my heart? the left auricle, did you see it?”

i run bare feet on floors of marble. i run clutching my chest, my id sets off alarms all across town. “i am on fire,” i scream and no one gives a damn. professionalism is all about being someone you can hate without guilt. i plant myself before a computer, its jaws agape with newness, and glare back into its stifling glare. no, this is not about writing codes. or challenging history. or disseminating. or introspecting. or anything you think it is.

this is about waiting till you explode.

the air-con whizzes above ceilings that crush. everything is shiny and glass and false. i forget the last time i tasted fresh. i forget the taste of rain. barred windows kick sunlight back to the hills. my eyes sink lower in their sockets till all i see is continuity. all day i watch the atmosphere drumming on their flat faces. tired it bursts into paranoia. and i cannot breath.

“can you lend me oxygen?” i ask the girl in the next chair.

“that is forbidden! don’t utter that word here!”

i panic, flap my arms around desperate to fly. suddenly i am crippled. claustrophobic. i am walking the edge of parapets ten stories high. the walls swoop down. “an invite,” i smile. in a city of trams, my parents celebrate their daughter’s job with expensive joy.

999 km away, secretly i google sleeping pills. anything to help me die. then return to the parapet in the middle of the night.

“i am glad i don’t have wings.”

roads twist into pretzels. the lights are lost. i run in loops. i run again. i run till my mouth drips naphthalene blood. it rains ash on the hills next door.

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8 thoughts on “7 days later I quit my job

  1. Your opening and closing paragraphs are incredibly gripping. And I love this line: “professionalism is all about being someone you can hate without guilt.”

    • It kind of felt so true once I was caught up in the corporate world. Being empathetic was forbidden. Being vulnerable was forbidden. Wanting to breath was forbidden. I liked nothing about it.

  2. Wow! What a strong piece of writing. Very visceral. You describe, in profound intensity, the slow death of the authentic, feeling self that seems to be so endemic within corporate systems.

  3. i feel your pain and hope what is relief.. as i too visited this place not in the private world but the military one of Captains and planes..

    Where truly there was no place for feelings at all.. and everyone was a number.. a commodity.. to be HAD…

    It took my health away.. and almost killed me.. and truly i would have rather died then.. than do what it takes.. to find help.. and to take care.. and finally survive.. AND LIVE AGAIN…

    The pain of five years.. and permanent disability as label both legal and medical is worth every ouch of every moment.. to finally be free…

    Human connections and connection to mother nature.. is all that matters to me.. the nightmare of culture and bosses who never care…

    is over for me..:)and i hope you find comfort in this life too.. as freer feeling human being.. who can once again connect with all that is.. too.. in Love with LIVING.. rather than fear of illusions.. that are never true……

    WE ALL ARE CONNECTED AT TRULY i believe that’s all that counts.. and everything else is worth no more than lie.. of all that can be imagined that is not true.. for human being….true at heArt.. too..

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