The last time I was in this washroom,
I was crying.
Dragged in by my friend as a way of comforting me.
I had rushed into a stall.
I don't even really know why I was crying.
I felt numb.
Everyone else was listening to loud music and having fun,
While I was there,
In a stall with a Broken vent,
Crying my sorry ass away.
I specifically remember looking up and seeing the thing that
Circulated
The air in the room.
I looked deeply at it,
Confused.
I remember thinking nothing but,
"Why don't they just get a new cover? It looks discussing!".
I specifically remember my friend pinning me to the wall and asking me for the seventeenth time what happened and if I was okay.
She was done.
I was done.
That vent needs a new cover.
YOU ARE READING
Lonely Whales
PoetryJust some poems I wrote in my spare time:) My poems are mostly free form sooo yea
