I will leave you with little bits and pieces of my mind
throughout the day and you may find it entertaining
or you may realize that my mind is far too unhealthy
to work properly (this is more than true)

I’m afraid that I’m going crazy and these three cubicle
walls are doing nothing to help me find my placing among
these phone calls, but it’s hard to find your footing when
the voices of the patients consistently knock you over

And you want to hide underneath your desk for fear of
your sanity finally leaving out of the door because it
couldn’t take it anymore and it’s bags were packed
already.

I’m writing this in the form of a poem but we both know that
the pleas of the insane could never truly be beautiful and
that is what this is, a documentation of a young woman
finally coming to terms

With no longer having all of her marbles, she lost them in a
game amongst children in the school yard but thought she
had gathered enough, since, to maintain herself (she was
wrong)

And now she is scattered across a Formica desk surrounded
by voices that are not in her head but actually in her vicinity,
all saying the same things she says, all answering the same
messages

All of the same thing over and over again every day and we’re
back to the monotony of the situation at hand, no excitement
resides inside of these walls just like they cut all contact off
to nature

No windows located anywhere near, can’t catch a glimpse of
the outside, lord forbid, you may decide to skip out in the
middle of a berating phone call so you can walk in the sun that
glistens on the pavement.

Too much fresh air is bad for cubicle robots, too much freedom
leads you to believe that you are not just a drone that they
trained to avoid any interaction at all costs, just put it off, put
it off, put it off, wait for the call.