The white room factory man

We found him in a factory, full of others,
Slaves.
Just like him, for sale. To do our chores.

He sits downstairs in a white room.
he never sees the light.

All day, his insides churn while we feed him bleach and poisonous chemicals.
Living on bitter substances of no nutritional value,
his stomach is a hostile place,
no one could ever survive there.

When he finishes his job, he curses, and we empty his turning stomach and shut him in his white room again.
Alone.
And no one thinking of him, or appreciating the work he does.

Day, after lonesome day.