The Book of the Dead.

Put on your suit, your tie, and pretend about your life.
Shine your shoes but not your soul, pretend there is control.

Order is your life, but chaos is the certainty, death is too easy but life is too hard.

Close the mirror or cover it, make it smaller until there is nothing left.
An eye to bare witness to the awfulness of humanity,
nothing else can see, nothing else will be.

And you live with the nothingness, no real image or identity, just
the little individuality you have seen as a curse upon the community.
You live in a glass bottle and this is your real suffering.
Your death will be relief but you will never accept the certainty.