I’m a silent wanderer in these halls
a fixture if you will
of a place that’s home but not quite
silently loud footsteps echo in the halls
they are mine but everyone else’s at the same time.
We wander them you see day and night
looking at ourselves in rooms
some with knives in hand
babies in tow
pale faces staring back.
These walls are blood white
passions gone awry
a circular prison
a room with no doors.
Welcome to my home