5 minutes late was a far away plague,
Like the Black Death,
The freedom of never worrying of losing it all was like albatross wings.
But the transition to a realm of strict rules, a grasp of interest, a contract of forever.
Animals push and pull, but their mouths contain a bit with reigns reaching into the abyss above, slaves to the day.
As I spend my sweat to wriggle free, the question of choice is present.
Why? This was a choice.
Their eyes are dead because their souls fetched a discount price.