The world has never been
so quiet or loud,
So slow yet fast,
So full yet empty,
And even at the risk of
Life or death,
We still snicker
under
our breaths
And whisper like it’s gossip—
Joking about the heat,
How stuffy the air gets,
How squeaky our shoes are,
How creaky the tables are—
Quiet murmurs that loudly echo
In the suffocating silence
Like rats sneaking away,
Or ants tracing the lines
That have been ingrained into
The floor after years and years
Of torment,
Or the tiles in the ceiling
That have been
dented
and marred,
Dusted and wiped.
Even in the darkness there’s small
Beams of lights
from phones
Turning
on and
computers being typed on.
The decorations are hushed,
The colours are faded,
Not as bright as they used to be,
Couldn’t be.
The wind burns with
foreboding
And the sun with
impatience,
It doesn’t end even
When it’s over,
For everyone is
still
Running.
