Locker Slam

Hallway stretched in cracked tile,

faded posters peeling from their corners.

Lockers stand lined like tired teeth,

scratched, dull, and unpolished.

A locker door slams,

a sound sharp as a sudden slap,

sticking to the memory like gum under a desk.

The clang echoes off walls plastered with years.

I shuffle past, tracing fingers on cold metal,

the air thick with old dust and forgotten laughs.

Each step a hesitant beat in a place

where I never quite fit, never fully left.

Fluorescent lights flicker, buzzing,

a broken rhythm that mirrors my own

slow shuffle between lockers and lost time,

a corridor holding shadows of who I was.