Working Overtime

It is in this instant that I understand
That I will comply to every demand I am asked
Each task carrying a weight that I have opted to lift
every shift, its exhausting
My fatigue is overwhelming but I must handle more than my peers,
Out of fear, I keep trying
To hell with the crying, the struggle is real
Yet I feel that the part that I’m playing is vital
I am not suicidal, but I die every day just a little
inside because I can’t scream out loud
Its forbidden, the acts and the shrieks of help are seen
as a weakness
Its bleak and its hard, but no time for excuses
And all the abuses just make me feel hazy
Still, no time to be lazy, and sleep is another kind of fantasy
The hand I’m dealt is much harder than the eye can see

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