Face Lift

We are all quietly being gassed by our working environment, bandages wrapped tightly around my face, I can't speak, I can't spell. I'm not seen. They ask me not to question them. The management want me to believe they are authentic. Even behind the wheels of their S Class Mercedes. I'm invisible in my cubical. Today the office smells like island Margarita, fresh sea breeze like. I'm not going south anytime soon. I'm not going anywhere except the photocopier room. I can breath there, alone in a room without windows. I miss windows. Sometimes if I get to close and I'll find to courage to leap.