DESPAIR, DESPAIR, despair…

It echoes off these cold, tiled walls,

And none but we hear it.

We young ones,

We lost ones,

We hopeless ones…

And we are forced

By unseen machines

To take this pencil

With it’s leaden tip

Which digs into our skin

To write

And rewrite

Theories of the dead,

Of the forgotten,

Like we are.