Empty Chairs, Closed Doors

Empty Chairs, Closed Doors

Empty chairs
closed doors again
running a race
I can never win

Waiting room smells
like bleach and cheap pine
clock on the wall
dragging out the time

Faces down
staring at the floor
just another number
waiting for a score

Questions designed
to make me trip
she taps her pen
with a tightening grip

I nod my head
pretend I’m fine
while I’m dying here
inside the line

Knocking till the wood
begins to crack
knowing there is
no turning back

I’m just noise
they try to ignore
left standing here
outside the door