THE WAITING ROOM
By: Marc
The door moaned its’ protest
when opened
Like a cranky old man given
a reason to complain
Leading into the room
of shadows
Lined with wooden chairs
built to cause pain
Pale adults stare
suddenly neglecting
Magazines they weren’t reading
their eyes dissecting
And when I’m certain the stillness
will become a grave
A nurse calls me, like an angel
She leads me away to save
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