Men in Suits

“Be an individual,” the men in suits say, “like us.”

A suit wraps itself around me like a boa constrictor, limiting my movement, squeezing the life out of me.

“It is the only way we will accept you,” the men in suits sing as they watch me die. “You can only be an individual if you kill every part of you that makes you different.” They sound as only a single voice.

A casket closes in on me. You should always dress your best for your own funeral.

“Conformity is the only approved path to individuality,” the men in suits say.