Ceiling Tiles

The light flickers above, a tired bulb,

its glow buzzes softly, illuminating

ceiling tiles stained with stories,

each one, a reminder of waiting—

years stretched thin between breaths.

I sit in the chair, my mind a whirl,

thoughts of my friend, results looming,

a biopsy's truth buried deep,

while shadows dance across chipped white,

a testament to time spent in limbo.