Marble archways set against a blue, painted, sky,
Throngs of people scuttling like spiders,
The brash sound of the work bells chiming,
Time ticks on, restlessly,
As we, the worker bees, drive ourselves into a frenzy,
Shoving each other, shouting hysterics, racing against one another to get to the top of the many-tiered edifice,
The grey building,
Rising ominously into the sky like a giant concrete web
All this bad intent
And what for?
Are we the spider?
Or the bugs?
I never knew.
It was a trap.