Wax Poetic

These Shackled Arms

23 June, 2011 (12:00) | Wax Poetic

The bracelet labeled “Corporate Whore”,

I’ve worn since I got my foot in the door,

They bent me over the desk, and I begged to work more,

So that I can pay for things I can’t afford.


The watch that ticks the time,

Reminds me of times I watched slip by,

Every opportunity missed, and chance denied,

And the limited future, until the day I die.


The girlfriend’s hair thing I wear,

A display of affection for the one I care,

A trinket of hope in times of despair,

The band-aid covering my heart’s bleeding tear.


Slave to these charms,

Owned by their meaning,

No one will be keying,

These shackled arms.