The Tossing Away of the Gifted Ones

It is here that I breathe.
Not far enough from your automated existence.
Lulled into the apathetic coma
Just trying to be through
You begin your time there beneath the radar
Hoping they won't ever feel you
And start with an easy minimum--
Trying to hide within the confines of the notes
Harbored protectively between the ears

And though you've begun another day striving for the
sake of the moment?
An old song wanders through the head, and
for the first time in weeks it drove you to
Tears

The harshness of a Means to an End
has found you in this cube
And try as you must to peer over its walls
It is now time to sit still and produce
Plug in

This building has seen much toil and pain
Though unlike a prison, you will be taunted
with glimpses of your Loved Ones again-
which seems like a ruse with no real end
that opens the wounds on Mondays
which had begun to close on the surface at weekend

This giant Thumb that quells the masses
This silent Killer of Souls!
This annihilator of all classes
The trickle own falls from that Great Greed, She knows
As there is only one thing worse than stealing the souls of the
Unknowing
...
And that is this: The Intuitive, plugged in...