Cubicle Crisis

Must be insane
To voluntarily imprison oneself 
In same routine,
Make excuses(because
They are paying me)
And do we really believe that's normal?

How quiet 
Within my padded tower walls
That you can hear an echo
Of mouse clicks,
At watch upon a mocking clock
While skin screams
For more than a fluorescent tan.

Central kicks on
By feel of cool or hot air
To determine temperature outside,
Windows non existent 
On the buildings upper floors
And I'm sure access to the roof
Is strictly prohibited.

I look for any excuse 
To unchain from this chair,
Adjust eyesight 
From constantly staring at computer screens,
Frequent bathroom and smoke breaks
When I don't smoke
Or need to pee,
Gets old being so polite
Greeting the unknown passerby
Fake smiling.

Best part of day
Is a mad rush through revolving doors,
One's to spit you out
Only to suck you back in,
And join a long line 
Of impatient yous
In alloy horses studder stopping
Every few feet.
Stare dreaming like a kid
At the mega millions billboard
Knowing there is something better
Than this,
God help me, n all
With our cubicle crisis.