Office.

Omniscient management networking.
Fluorescent lights, pleasantly annoying.
Finite forms, storm and perform for a premium.
I conform to the norm hum along to jazz in the atrium.
Creativity crushing conformity called 'motivation', we pawn personalities for pensions.
Every day we do our best work, ever dying we try to give. in death will we joke having only half lived?

Binary to reality.

Detained by a desk.
Caught in a cubicle.
Restrained by grotesque.
Drafts and articles.

These tube lights blind.
A/C fumes choke my lungs.
Please give me breezes unrefined.
Lazy days in the sun.

Where I can let ink bleed on the parchment.
Run on naked feet on grass not pavement.
Stare at greens on trees instead of screens.
Stunned at the un-pixelated clean emerald green

Use arms to climb, reach, caress and feel.
Lose myself only to find when I'm lost, I'm real.

Freed from binary breathing.
Totally living to be.
Indeed that would be finally living.
Mortally broke, but free.