Mentee!

 He came to the old house
Paint thick on the antique doors
Attempted protection hidden nostalgia
His walk was protection, his life a chore.

Conveyor belts move corridors with grooves
lazy legs appreciate not having to move
Uniforms radiate values nonexistant
Formal symbols of what the heart insists at

at the end of the corridor is middle age
The feeling one has done everything in their humanity
A lie designed and perfected by habit and fantasy
Until he opens the door between career and sensuality

An admirer shares his disgusting appetite for sarcasm
The obvious prestige of family where the unpolished trophy sits
A weight of pride if nothing else a collectible braggable piece of kit
whereas the new toy manipulates his ego

The old house has a slight odor of mould
The maintenence this man performed, to hell
Now neglected, his wife and children as well
For the satisfaction of one man, himself