I thought the pain would end in 30 days, yet here I am, standing at the 31st - Working a job labelled a 9-5, as the clock mocks - 5 extra, unpaid Fingers aching from endless typing, sip after sip of caffeine, only for the narcissist, wearing smiles like chains, to grin and take the prize. Then the moon greets my tired frame. It doesn't speak, it doesn't comfort. I don't want to work, but I simply do, like an animal at the feet of a system that values silence. On the 1st of the month the cycle will start again. Someday I'll break free, or maybe not, on my 31st day.