staring at the ceiling in the reg

walls in polyps and cubes

aiming down.

around slabs of bleached coral,

depleted patients

aimlessly drifting their way into

the abyss.

enjambed between pages

of Plato, souls promenade.

some in groups, in twos, some solitarily

roaming in the empty space of bookshelves,

entranced by the incessant drip of the

Dark roast three floors down.

disjointed - dismembered.

mind split in two.

divorced from reality,

day becomes night.

time ran away—

still here.

Trin Bledsoe