The Weight of Waiting

In the waiting room, time drips like a leak,

each tick of the clock makes my heart feel weak.

Plastic chairs peeling, their paint’s fading grace,

whispers of worry hang thick in the space.

I brace for my name, like a knife to my core,

each second that passes feels heavier, more.

Life’s fragile thread hangs, just beyond the door,

in this quiet limbo, I hope for much more.