I was putting
my ear to the wall
and listening to
every vibration from
your mouth that sounded
like mislaid promises.
Say to him,
'We do the best,
we have the brightest,
we are victorious,"
and I know it to be a lie
covered under thick decapitated
dreamers that once spoke out
and were suddenly silenced by a
botched idea of corporate enthusiasm.
Laying their dead bodies out
and covering them with melting
orchids in the hot summer sun,
I think to myself how every spirit
haunts this building,
every dreamer has an echo calling for help,
and how confident the walls must make you
to lie with precision on your lips.
I am silenced once more
and return with a grimace
on my face to my desk where
I plot my exit strategy like a prisoner
with a dirtied spoon in a box bolted shut.
Forgotten I am
but how beautiful it is to dream in tiny spaces.