...

Dull eyes. Hunched backs. Swinging half-doors.
Stunted thoughts and a half-awake self.
The thin coat of cheap paint is peeling itself off of these half-funded walls. A lot buzzes and hovers around with the intent of cloudless clouds over our heads. Little goes around without us knowing as we wait for something unconsciously. Amidst whispers and knotted fingers, creating out of thin air, spinning unknowingly. Waiting till all comes around again. Waiting to rest. Waiting to wake up again.