The Narrative - Waiting Room
Waiting in line,
passing the time reading four month old magazines
The pale walls given life by the florescent lights,
exposing stains in the carpeting
And sitting at my side this mockery of life
a plastic plant strictly for tasteless decor
No one makes a sound
but the sirens seeping through the space between the door and the floor
Well there s nothing left to say
The word s just collapse into
colorful waves in the spectrum of sound
and it s easy on the ears
and it s nice to hear
but it doesn t mean a thing
No it doesn t mean a thing
The silence breaks
like a small earthquake shattering the calm it s my name
The familiar scent of sterile instruments
filters out from inside the hallway
Your chin falls