Vincent van Zandvoort
10 supporters

The Plant

Apr 26, 2023

The Plant

Please, factory floor, I can't take anymore. I swear, these machines were just breathing. The best thing in life is to wake up at five. Fight the demons that strife till you give in.

Please, factory floor, I can't take anymore. Our love for machines means far more than our dreams. They make us run from the start. Forget the beat of a heart. They prefer the warmth of friction.

We feed the machine. It's hungry and mean. Work with all of your might, from dawn until night. Who's always on time? Who's ready to climb? The machine. It can see who's the best worker bee.

On the floor, I see women like wine, getting better with time, and men far past their expiration dates—away from their homes, away from the love; the factory floor just cannot get enough.

Please, factory floor, I can't take anymore, and by management's will, life here stands still. We offer our joints, backs, and sanity. Walk outside in rag-like clothes, despite vanity.

Late at night. Too tired to fight, and I bleed from the soles of my feet. My eyes burn; I'm too tired to learn. Please, factory floor, I can't take anymore.

Is it way too late? Have I accepted my fate? This breathing machine is cold, strong, and mean. This is not "moving on," just a while, and I'm gone.

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