The chains are softer now.
They come with passwords,
paydays,
and biometric doors
that open just wide enough
to forget they lock.
What was once called slavery
is now a starting salary.
With growth potential.
And a Friday pizza party.
You can decorate your cubicle.
Pick your flavour of burnout.
Even choose your own wallpaper
for the prison wall.
Until the company chooses something for you.
A meeting.
A calendar invite.
A “quick chat.”
Then your password stops working.
They call it “restructuring.”
You call it “a mutual divorce.”
Your mortgage calls it "a flight risk".
And life?
Life is a con job
that sells curd and calls it yogurt.
Existence is algorithmic now.
Identities binary.
The only affordable nuance
comes with a dropdown menu
at a fine dine gourmet restaurant.
“One for the pictures,”
you say,
posing beside
a mural of a freedom fighter
sponsored by a soft-drink brand.
The company calls it patriotism.
The algorithm calls it engagement.
The country omits your voting rights,
because your father's name was misspelled.
History moves on at the speed of scrolls.
Your debts pile on like browser cache.
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