The halls smell like bleach
But they won't smell like that come next week
The white floors and walls trap you
No start no end only white
Faces are blank
Eyes are wide
But all I see is white
I'm being trapped in a sanitized hell
The circle reserved for those who still have dreams
The torture of Times New Roman font
The hell of things that help you survive
But really are anyone of us still really alive
YOU ARE READING
through toil and chance
PoetryPoetry for the doers and the dreamers. Poetry for the lovers and the fighters. Poetry for the soul seeker and the self lover. Poetry for the misfits and the outcast. Poetry for the classicist and poetry for the modernist. Pictures featured are not...
