They have you doing the dirty work.

Cleaning up the messes you didn’t make,
caution signs on the corner of every aisle,
wrong turns send you colliding,
so you try again.

The complaints are the worst of it.

There’s always a new situation,
something out of your control,
you have to give something,
to keep from an explosion.

You don’t know what makes you stay.
The obligations to make it right
take hold of your senses.
But I won’t be you anymore.

I quit.