the twice weekly void

slipping through the void,

to a dimention of pain,

i get to the third floor,

walk down the hall,

every step through that void,

is a painful regret,

and yet,

more steps follow,

no echoes can be heared,

the tiles line the wall,

in colorless pale,

and the hand holds fast ,

to the instruments,

to futile constructions,

to vanquished sheafs ,

of dry paper,

the legs walk,

yet the hall is endless,

through the void, marching,

entering at the end,

class 9.

and what then?

you don't want to know!!