WhiteOut

Stark white
Flashes,
crashes,
slaps my eyes
with blank and vain brutality.

Another stack
to wrack my skull.
Each glaring, colorless
razor edged.
With no depth,
no texture,
just futile phrases and weightless words.

This is the meal ticket
I sell my sanity for.
This intangible foe,
massive as redwoods
but evasive, fluttering
into wisp-thin sheets
to surround me,
drown me,
bury me breathing,
beneath these swells
of vile and pointless
paper.

(a song for the papercut refugees... my fellow 9-5ers in the cubed-off hell of office work)