Rushing though sparse hallways; Rushing to not be late
Noticing nothing, As I hurry to my fate
Routine displays its boredom, expressed in my apathetic ways
I'll be back to race this path, in just six short days
There is no thought as I move, I'm driven by the familiar surrounding
Reaching the room, I sit and wait, No emotion abounding
On the way out, I slow my pace,
With this I'm forced to notice each passing face,
Stained with Sadness, Cursed with Wonder, Stressed with Pain.
Their tears burst through; there's never a face kept sane
Perspective swarms into me, as I view their malaise.
How lucky am I? To know, in time, my sickness will phase.