Office complex #3,293,304
is a sight to see.  

Squat-square tomb, matte-grey
exterior, matte-grey
in-terior... 
pebbled-fabric walls,
clinging frames of
motivational nonsense...
vending machines looming above 
splotched pastel-grey tiling,
mazes and mazes of grey
electronically-locked doors,
squeaky footsteps, 
beeping, beeping, beeping,
laughter echoing into
hollowness.

The vibrating light turns
yellow before your eyes,
the ceiling is tiled and groaning
foam-board.
computer eyes glare everywhere,
couched in knitted-cable nests and
settled dust.

Keyboards are coated in
decade-old grey grime.  The
vents kick in...
grey noise,
grey life,
clutching hands in a fist around my 
b-b-b-BEATING RED HEART...
only the there's no oxygen here,
just puddled silence,
and this red is grey,
and this necktie is a clenching
NOOSE
that smells of toner and 
electric
sanitized 
nothing.

Office complex #3,293,304
is a sight to see