This path is an unlit hallway
with worn-out carpet for a
floor, scratching tired feet
that search so desperate
for the door.
Endless, walking endless with
glowing flame for a guide
between the smoking walls,
Aching branches twist, turn
to the nearest light.
Escape must be somewhere,
A place to feel the rain on the
face, wind through the hair.
Another cigarette lit, another
step further away.
An umbrella ricochets lukewarm rain droplets
into a musky street gutter, smelling of litter,
and cigarette butts.
Soiled shoes shuffle on concrete and squeak
upon walking on the tiled floor. Slide, wipe, dry.
A subdivided glance of grey skies through the
window, blocked out by tasteless décor, resembling
a funeral home. It houses lilies only in white, but
they don’t need to be watered.
I met my reflection in ripples of transmission fluid,
the colors swirled together filling my sorrowful eyes.