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13 Oct 2005

gummo
Once again: same old, same old.
Ants scuttling off to work for a queen they never see
who is omni-present, yet nowhere.
And for what?
I get to work.
My 1x1 meter cubicle becomes  an egg.
At night I hatch and return home just to die in front of the T.V.
Survivor sucks.
And as I incubate in the cubicle of sorrow,
while the glare of the flourescent lights dry out my eyes
and the airconditioning system transports millions of unseen 
germs throughout the building,
I realise:
I am just a fucking barcoded number.

Modernist

Metaphorical

49

0

gummo

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