The Same

The white walls and white halls are listening;

I listen, they listen, you talk.
About stories of love, 
And their Hatred of stuff 
The bad things being done:

We hear you; 
As I walk by, a fly on the wall, 
no more than a ghost in the hall,

I hear you,
Distantly; as I move through the halls 

I hear one start,

another finish, 

and it never gets quiet.

The quietness would be relieving, 
When quiet comes at least they know I am there. 

It's the sea of voices, 
the bits and pieces of ocean 
That makes me want it more. 

I feel estranged,
Only conditioned to the past social structures;
I'm unused to this way of buzz.
And yet so aware;
Of these faces i've only known brief,
The childhood I do not hold with these people. 

They eat the same,

They work the same,

They feel the same,

They are the same.

And they know me as new,
Others not knowing at all who I am,
But i'm the same person,
Nothing new about me.

I eat the same,

I work the same,

I feel the same,

I am the same.

It’s a funny thing,
Being the you everyone knows,
but they don't.

I don't share the same with these people.
The same is known with these people,
The rules have been spoken so many times,

It's imprinted on their resume,

The same is with them.
Their same is protected with fly traps, 
Traps that a fly on the wall would get stuck in,

I could get stuck.

So instead I must be quiet,

I must listen.