The Long Wait

The fluorescent hum drags on,

ticking clocks in beige rooms

where time dissolves,

and minutes fold into themselves.

My eyes trace the cracks in the wall—

a map of nowhere, no destination.

Breath shallow,

I chase the silence that swallows me whole.

Waiting isn't passive,

it’s a slow erosion,

a slow drowning in dullness

until even boredom forgets to care.