Once upon a midnight dreary
The American Dream

The cafe is quiet this morning,
suits and skirts drag their heavy
heels slowly across the tile floors,
picking up their morning routine
liquid kicker, yawning into fists,
bloodshot eyes sinking into the
darkened bags begging for sleep.

One by one they file out, a
conveyor belt of mechanical
men and women, spending their
days trapped in cubicles, fantasies
of suicide, any type of escape, a
release from the socioeconomic hole
they have dug so deep.
A grave big enough to have your
briefcase and tie collection buried with you.

I know these people, the ones
who were once young and passionate,
creative, would die to change the world.
But the black hole of corporate America,
money, greed, and power sucked that
passionate blood from their hearts.

Nights of drinking, laughing, lusting
have been replaced with a silent spouse
that drinks their feelings, finding love
at the bottom of empty bottles, and kids
who are neglected, brainwashed by
pop stars, supermodels, and the latest trend.

I wonder how it feels to be so
completely empty, I fear that I
will become another one of them,
the walking dead.
Is this the American Dream?