doesn’t like lines, but will stand in one because those are the rules and it thinks we need them.

It moves around like the ant, performing its tasks without question, often losing a feeler or a leg during its foray into service and reliability, neither of which will be replaced.

Like the child who goes to the store to pick up some bread in order to ensure a smile from its mother that will never be loving enough, at night it crawls down into its own heart and digs down for a still and quiet enough place to lick itself clean,

where it murmurs like a pigeon giving itself away from inside the beak of a tyrannical overlord.