you don’t remember waking up. you don’t remember walking here. office could be a manifestation of your mind’s loneliest desire, you wouldn’t care. you have a job to do, the job is work.

you walk the halls, the halls are barren and swollen with your thoughts, occasionally you hear the distant voice. you give it no mind, they aren’t talking to you.

You’re not worth it.

you sit at your desk and you do the thing the thing the thing the thing the thing the thing the thing until you are satisfied with it enough to take a break. you are never satisfied, you never take a break.

there are no windows, there are no clocks. you forgot your phone, time is measured by how many times you have tapped your brown shoe against the floor. a tap takes a second. you counted 34,999 taps. that is enough for one day. you have not spoken to anyone today, you have not seen anyone today, it is not unusual. it is time to go back house. go back house. go back house.

the walk out is always harder than the walk in. no one pays for the lights, maybe just one or two, for the hallways. you would use the flashlight on your phone if you had your phone, it is at house. it takes awhile, maybe just one hour or two, to remember your way out. you hear that voice again, you realize that it is just that funny broken refrigerator that hums, leaks green.

it is not warm or cold outside. it is not day or night. you are not hungry or tired. outside is the same as inside. you wonder if you have anything to eat at house, you are not hungry, food is a good concept to fill your mind. you walk for a long time, nice and slow, house isn’t going anywhere. you are still alone, it is not unusual.

you’ve made it to house. you do not lock your doors, there is no point. you have a can of brown. you don’t remember leaving here, you’re here again. your bed is made. you don’t remember sleeping.

You’re not worth it.


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