Money Maketh Man Mad.

​You wake up. 

Midway through the alarm 

Like you never slept. 

Clean and wash yourself. 

To shine, for the others. 

Ironed clothes and impeccable shoes 

At the office, the fingers work 

Mindlessly 

As if you were hypnotic

Staring at the laptop screens

With tired eyes and programmed minds

9 to 6, officially. 

Home, again. 

Dinner for two, you and your presentations 

You scream at your mom 

When she spilled water on your phone

She never understands

How important work is.

The clock strikes 1. 

And that’s your cue

To pack up stuff 

And walk to room. 

Glance guiltily at that guitar 

Or the unused typewriter on the desk

Or the blank canvas painted in dust, now.

And think, 

Money did make man mad.

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