It’s just a room
But it’s also where dreams go to die
And people who have attention problems
Decide to definitely go ahead and shoot themselves.
It’s where you turn into a soulless object
And the purpose of your life defuses
Into the kind of dust
People wipe off their seat
Before sitting down.
Your insides reject your outsides
And you can physically
Feel your organs shutting down
While you listen
To people shout
Enthusiastic nonsense
At you,
Expecting something to happen
That will surly never be determined.
You’re likely to learn non-conventional lessons like
“You fail at everything you try at”
And
“You’re worth less than maybe you thought,
And far less than your mother will tell you.”
You might even realize that
Everything’s been gong down hill for a while
And that you’ve finally hit the bottom,
And here, in this room, is your punishment.
Punishment for not trying hard enough in elementary school,
Punishment for not having the deductive reasoning required,
Punishment for not remembering seemingly random facts
You may or may not have encountered,
And punishment for simply and soundly
Knowing less than the majority
Of holy coyotes
That don’t even know they’re ripping out your throat.
So for these, your crimes,
Your punishment is this,
And it is Hell.