Like a Ghost


I walk down this fluorescent lit tunnel
day after day.
Each door leads to a black hole.
No wounder why I tend to lose myself.

Each face holds one of two things.
The blankness of not caring, or
the promise of a lie.

We all wounder like a lost soul;
waiting for something to come and grab our attention.

Some can be distracted by the idea of sports;
maybe find the the beauty of music,
but some will always be lost to us.

But am I one of the lost simply because I find no happiness in this?

So call me different, because I am,
so for now I'll walk these halls like a ghost.
And play this game for four more years.

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