Grey walls, and cold fluorescent lights buzzing like bees

They sit there, rubber stamps in hand,

they are gods of small power and big and important paperwork

I smile through the glass at my own misery

Forms to fill,

……………….lines to stand in, and the hell questions

and these voices, each syllable is a nail driven into my patience

I see them shuffle their piles of nothingness, like poker players with a losing hand, but
they’re not bluffing

They do not laugh, but they do drink coffee because they are people too, and they need
sometimes to take a break from breaking the human souls

Coffee cups they clutch like trophies of their small evil victories

I stand there, like shit stinking, waiting for a nod, a wink, a sign that I exist

But the clock on the wall is the only one that moves, and its ticks are louder than my
thoughts

And when I finally reach the end of this line, this torture, I’ll be free!

I see that dead can dance!

They’ll tell me I need another signature, another piece of my soul in their endless
bureaucracy collection

The door slams shut behind me, and nobody gives me this day lost back.

I’m eager to leave this place. Humanity is just another form to be filed and forgotten
here

– Bureaucracy Blues