Boxes

A new breed of suffering has emerged, the color of my office walls.

The walls, the yellow walls, like the enchanting Victorian wallpaper of old, but instead flat and stifling under the florescent lights. The only escape is the electronic window that sucks me in, keeps me wanting more, and leaves me hungry every time.

Clicks, taps, and imperceptible hums and drums delve deeper and deeper into my subconscious. The slow, creeping fear that I am becoming less and less human, and more and more alone.

Funny how we think that sanity is sitting on a chair and staring at a box. Funny how our comforts are also in boxes. Boxes of wires, boxes of shoes, boxes of cereal, little boxes. They are still made out of ticky tacky.