There's a pattern happening that you must not think I've noticed. I'm tucked away on the back burner until things don't go your way. When that happens, I'm pulled out, brushed off, and used again. Used for what, I don't honestly know. Am I sorry you're hurting? Sure, I'm human. I'd rather things worked out, whatever that means. Do I get a sick sense of pleasure from it? You bet your ass I do. Karma may be a bitch, but I bet she's smiling.
I'm a corporate lackey, slowly trying to climb my way up the ladder to the old white men above the glass ceiling. They keep kicking the ladder away. Bastards.
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