work/prison/escape is futile

I obtained a job in a building.
The payment for the job was ok.
I couldn’t grumble, I mean there are people worse off then me.

I work in an office full of people.
And computers.
I work in an office with
people and computers.

And carpets.

Some corners are brightened up by plants.
Fake plants where the green seems too green,
some leaves are covered with dust.

My day is spent doing work that
makes no sense to me.
I am a small link in chain,
a small cog turning and getting dizzy.

The office is silent.

Underground, in the basement I think
furnaces and machines
power the building.

One day I think it was cold outside I vaguely recall seeing trees bend in the wind out side the window on that day I was making tea and felt the urge to confess to a colleague
any colleague my desire to escape I whispered to the colleague my suspicions he seemed uninterested the kettle boiled as I stirred by tea I knew I shouldn’t have confided in him I left the kitchen area and my chair and desk seemed miles away.

As I moved towards my desk
it felt I was being followed

A piece of paper lay on my keyboard.
“There is no escape”.
All eyes were staring at me.

My tea was luke warm.


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