Those ugly places that claim my fame

In between the click and hums and hollow empty noises of the office,
between the rat traps and dust collections forming in hidden corners and unchecked surfaces -
there is a gentle pressure from the blowing air conditioning unit that makes me feel grounded - and not always in a good way. In a claustrophobic way. In a squishy, smelly, musty, moldy way.
I exaggerate a sense of discontent from the invisible hand-cuff of a pay check that keeps me chained to my desk and my boss's ego.
But in my daily routine, I reveal continuously (and only to myself) that there is an overwhelming sense of familiarity - that I didn't just live my life - but I existed once - right here.
And I have strength. I have one good hand free to play with myself- so i am. I'm making the best of this.

Where the narrow, uncomfortable corridor of my home pushes me to the center of a dark untidy disaster - I am crushed by walls. It is a prison
But I emerge on the other side where the first thing I see is a piano- and I am instantly free from the poverty that keeps me here.
It stands patiently waiting to engage me with an arrangement to escape.

So I do.
I escape - clutching my dreams like a parachute