The waiting game / The waiting room

-Buru-

Written at least 10 years ago (minus a few more recent edits), but since today we are all waiting for something, it seemed fitting.

It's the waiting that kills me,
The big spaces full of nothing.
The empty air,
It numbs my every breath.
I sit still and quietly,
My chest moves up and down
In even measures
Like a perfect clock.
I don't trust the walls,
They swarm with murmurs,
An unhealthy white but for
Some colored interruptions
That add to the general distaste.
They steal my air,
Of this I'm sure.
The paintings are too big,
They house cheap flowers
Of blooming red
And other abominations.
The colors are too loud,
They scream at my brain
Get away...get away!
The strangers in the room
Offer no solace
As they read old news
From frayed pages
Read a thousand time over.
They look deceivingly calm,
But there is no peace offered here.
Furtive eyes watch
From weathered sofas,
Hands turn pages,
Magazines rustle.
As the clock ticks away
A door off to the right
Is opened.
You leave your seat,
Hesitant,
Aware of stares.
You make your way through
So many moving eyes and hands,
Murmur a greeting
And manage a smile
While paintings scream
On the walls.
Yes, they scream
On the walls.