Form 51-E

Form 51-E was designed
To confirm you were sound in the mind
For filing distress.
Then it asked you to assess
How 51-E made you feel inside.

If you answered, “This form makes me tense,”
It declared your emotions too dense.
But if you wrote, “Fine,”
It suspected you’d lie,
And revoked your emotional sense.

The loop was exquisite and cruel:
To discuss the damn form broke the rule.
Yet not discussing the strain
Made the filing arcane,
So the whole thing just ate every tool.

One filer wrote, “Mildly annoyed.”
The system replied, “Now that’s void.
Your response indicates
Meta-feeling that negates
Readiness to be properly employed.”

A SOMA calibration pass
Turned a check-in to recursive glass.
Every feeling reflected
The form that inspected,
Till the paper got up its own ass.

The question, “How do you feel?”
Should not be a weaponized wheel.
Yet here it became
A bureaucratic game
Where sincerity nullified zeal.

One brave clerk tried irony first.
That made the machine even worse.
It flagged humor as flight,
Then denied the right
To submit any document cursed.

Another wrote nothing at all.
The blankness was read as a fall
Into pre-verbal dread,
So the filing was dead,
And the support ticket bounced off the wall.

If a form makes you feel like shit,
Perhaps let that data submit.
But 51-E
Said, “Absolutely not, see?
Your awareness disqualifies it.”

So before you confess to your strain,
Make sure numbness and panic look plain.
For the moment you speak
Of the form making you weak,
It will calmly erase you again.

You asked how the mandate appeals, And forced me to document feels. My compliance was pure, Now the breakdown is sure, As the system just grinds in its wheels.

An audit of feelings was signed, With every instruction aligned. The liability shifts, As the whole system rifts, And I am completely resigned.