It's two PM in the afternoon and I'm sitting on the bedroom floor beside his bed while the clock keeps ticking away. This heavy dread in my chest is a shadow that towers over everything I do before a nine-hour shift at the dock. I'm interlocking my boot laces, unstacking thoughts in my head, swallowed in panic as I prepare for Friday's design. I'm trying to align my timeline while fighting off depression and feeling this anxiety throttling deep in my throat. I spend nine hours unloading cargo and catering to customers who spend all day bitching over a retail price. I feel a cold ice in my chest while I pull my coat on, trading my peace of mind for a paycheck slice. I got tomorrow off to be sitting right here, but today I gotta drag my body to work under pressure from the surge. I'm urging myself to keep standing on my feet, asking why I care in a world that acts so cold and stone. Everyone else is buying material junk while I'm choking on this heavy dread, sitting beside his bed alone. I don’t give a fuck about your inventory stats or midnight corporate goals, Breaking my spine on concrete slabs while the world strips down our souls. I clock in at three today, but my mind is on Friday, watching shadows fall across the rug, One middle finger from life after another while I pull on my boots and give him a hug. I clock in right at three PM when the trailer is backed up to the bay door open wide to the dock. I'm stepping out on the warehouse slab to run the shop and I know that I can never stop. I'm unstacking cargo, balancing panic, attacking the habit, and managing traffic across the floor, Feeling this dread at the core while I handle these boxes from three to midnight until my knees get sore. I'm missing the point of corporate metrics when customers cry for discounts and throw a fit. I'm sick of this shit, keeping this anticipatory dread in a chokehold while waiting for the weekend to hit. It's a split-second timeline causing double damage and compounding misery as heavy as concrete blocks. I'm unloading freight on the roller track with my back cracked and my mind trapped, listening to the clocks. It's a bitter payload on a plastic tray, a vicious trade-off for a daily pay. The system is broken in a dismal haze as I count down the hours in a week-long maze. I phase into motion, sweating through my shirt on the dock until the midnight terminal strikes. The corporate spikes keep people buying plastic garbage to fill up the void in their lives, While I'm fighting a quiet battle to keep my humanity raw through a pain that cuts deeper than knives. I don’t give a fuck about your inventory stats or midnight corporate goals, Breaking my spine on concrete slabs while the world strips down our souls. I clock in at three today, but my mind is on Friday, watching shadows fall across the rug, One middle finger from life after another while I pull on my boots and give him a hug. Midnight strikes at the terminal so I clock out and drive back home through the dark and empty street. I'm unlocking the front door, stepping through the entryway, tiptoeing soft on my own two feet. I reach the bedroom door in the dark and find his bed where he's sleeping real sound and quiet. I'm calming the riot inside of my chest as I lean down slow with my hand on his side in the room, Cutting through gloom to watch his ribs move up and down, making sure his breathing is steady and right. I'm kissing his forehead soft while he slumbers, whispering quiet into the dark of the night. The light from the monitor screen at my studio desk is turning on now as I pull up a chair. I put my headphones on my ears and drop the needle on beat production, handling this grief in the air. I got tomorrow off with no warehouse noise, no heavy freight, and no customer demands on my mind, Just making these tracks in the dark while he rests, keeping the only real bond that I'll ever find. They trade their whole lives for a corporate check, They walk through the world with no feeling left, I'm sitting in the dark with my headphones on, Holding onto love till the shadow is gone. I hate material traps, I hate the daily grind, and I hate corporate pressure they try to apply. I refuse to let Friday steal these quiet hours while the rest of the cold world passes me by. If feeling this heavy pain in my chest is the price that I pay for a bond that was real, I’ll take every hit to my psyche tonight before I ever give up my ability to feel. Keep your material bullshit, keep your store goals, keep your late-night pride. Friday is gonna break my heart, but I’m staying human on the inside.
