A Straight and Organized Line

It's rather lonely in the center.
Trapped by a mouse in each corner
and flesh-colored walls on both sides.
It's where peace equals disorder and
emotion follows the cool, austere instructions.

Here, our thoughts disappear
as we manufacture lies.
A direct and impersonal order leaves
our hands flying in unmapped directions.
Who are they anyway?

A figment of my imagination
keeps me company for a while.
But then it’s gone
when a glitch makes it down to the end
It ruins not only my soul.

The others here are as grey and dim
They keep working not by purpose
But by some inane reason
That no one really understands
But it keeps us from falling

The hollowing dust weakens my happy memories.
Sometimes I’m left thinking:
Nothing ever happened at all.
But the scars run deep
And the mourning runs deeper

So I’ll keep my head low
And my spirit lower
And reconcile with myself
That all is not lost
Because I still have a piece of the pain
that is myself.