stanSenior Contributor
The vWhite Room
White washed walls ring
in the songs of madness.
Neon lights, unseen eyes
Spies upon all this sadness.
Psychco memories will rise.
Who would choose,
one hundred billion
years of solitude?
We all hear in this safe place.
Cavernous corridors run in tears.
Stories of loneliness in here,
with fears of timeless griefs
locked inside everyone.
Stories of loneliness,
spaces to hide, confess, confide.
Long, held heart secrets of lives in time.
So a symphony of 10,000
souls speak.
Each being screams.
Within their boot-cut jeans.
Gifted from angels in heaven.
Conjured by all our Demons.
Dreamt of by madmen,
who just can't free us.
By Stan.