you stomp your way through
the corridors of grey monotony
held in a straight line by
unbroken chains and you stare
into identical mirrors seeing
yourself decaying and grey
like a pile of cigarette ash
and your eyes stare blank and
sad like smudged coals
and the corridor leads on
and on into blackness but
not unknown blackness
because you know what�s there
its blank walls await you like
colorless stop signs in the
void of shattered mirrors
and floors of solid grey
ash hurting your weary
legs with every step but
you refuse to collapse as you
drag your chains behind you
making straight line trails
in the dust as you continue
down the endless dead end
corridor of illusionary
complacency
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