A Solivagant's Shoes

Why don’t you go easy on me,  Life… why don’t you?  It’s the same old Sunday night,  and my chest grows tighter, tighter. The same old Sunday night—  but I’m not hoping for a Monday  on the other end of my blink.  Work stacks up—  a weight beyond what even a camel can bear. Capitalism never bothers.  Corporate never flinches.  I stand in the center,  bound by threads  pulling me apart, day by day. I shed my skin, showed my bones.  But all eyes turned blind—  because I’m known  as the camel  built to carry and wither. They said: You’re…