Kitchen

The Chefs lair
An artists home
The busboy, it’s slave. 

Where the bold meet the mad
A place of perfection with so many faults 
If you don’t love it, you’ll suffocate. 
Years pass like days 
By the time you realize it’s too late. 

It can kill you 
Too many hours 
Too little pay 
All day on your feet with not a chair to sit on 
You can go but you can never leave 

A cigarette an hour to keep you sane
A cigarette an hour to remember who you are 
Few belong here