Discarded

Back hunched,
Head tilted downwards
Butt grazing the hard worn seat
Like a vulture who's waited long for its corpse
Munching and punching its beak at its prey
As my the fingers show my keypads no mercy
All for the hustle
All for the good life
All for the greener pasture.
Fueled by the caffeine,
Really don't care if I'd go insane( I hope not)
Maybe it might be the death of me
Really don't know, as I speak for all  of "we"
Maybe like a recharge card
We are only useful until scratched
And discarded after by the name tag" downsizing'
Our names spoken in silent whisper by the hallways
Our toils only remembered when convenient
 .