A Man Made Prison

The light shines

across my face

and I feel alive for the first time

in days

 

but as I pull my car into 

the company lot

the light is blocked out

and life goes back to

nothingness.

 

I swear I can’t go on living like this

cutting off my own dick

losing my balls

and sacrificing my body.

 

It’s the same thing every morning

shooting up the same elevator

sitting in the same chair

waiting for people to jump

out from their corners

with sharpened knives

to stab me in the back.

 

A daily exercise in medieval supernatural sorcery 

of the rarest kind,

something of which

they’re all masters at.

 

And oh yes! they gurgle my blood!

their cups runneth over,

leaving me 

dry, pale

and weak.

I have no energy

to find my way out

 

so there I’ll be

in the end,

a withered up old man

sitting in the same chair

with the squeaky seat,

tripping down the stairs at noon

to make it to the cafeteria on time

 

now surrounded by young people

talking about the same life

I used to talk about living

when I was young.

 

But they’ll be gone soon too,

we’ll all be gone

every last one of us,

some before me

and others after,

but we’ll all end up

as the same type of dust

blowing.

 

I step onto the sidewalk

and they see me coming

waving me over

 

but I turn away

pretending they don’t exist

as I smile

 

all the way

back to the car

leaving as if I were 

never there,

here for the last time.