Empty Space Saturday

This place

desolate, bleak,

empty-

skeletons stood upright to

prove

a structural form.

 

Watching

the paint on the walls grow old,

 

hearing

thud: heart-beating,

below skin.

 

Times,

follow the second hand’s tick-

Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick,

 

sound of a knife-

slice.

 

Ding of the elevator; on a far off floor,

maybe the moon-

these distant lands…

 

Not for you.

 

Sit down, not quite at home-

comfortable,

this place is haunted too;

 

with:

dead memories

dust

and pasts assumed.

 

The surrounding silence marks the language lacking.

 

Hunched on rowed stacks,

far towards the back.

 

-Can’t see.

 

And you thought you were the only one

Sit and think until punch clock strikes: done. 

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