These dram corridors,Subtly textured with what I would call a hopeful despair,

So many content bodies set to exist in suspension.
And I walk like the room is slow motion,

Trying not to show my contempt for the self destructively content.
Satisfied. Sad. Bodies.
And I in no way mean to demean I just struggle when I’m in the presence of dreamless beings.

People living like they’re in a perpetual state of shock with no foreseeable stop. 
Remind in five years that corporate America is only a pit stop

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