“Sherwin,”
He calls. The word has been said many times;
His eyes, narrow with scrutiny, detect my lack of productivity,
I know the system,
I give up the chase,
I hand him a scrape of notebook paper tainted with slanted anger-driven words,
What could I possibly say?
I find the needless pursuit and chain of agonizing numbers to be pointless,
This sterile and colorless environment is just a haven of inspiration,
Both are true,
X = Y,
Find the plane, there is a carefully organized system of logic to discover a missing link in the equation,
Logic and rationality are a figment of the human consciousness to obtain stability,
Our existence is one that is birthed by irrationality,
The wallpaper is white and faintly speckled,
The fluorescent lights drain the last bit of excitement the room has to offer,
White, on white, on white,
The color of insane asylums,
The color of infinity,
The color of a dead fish's underbelly,
I hand him reluctantly a paper that rebels against his every lesson,
White is a blank canvas.