Without pleading or desperate tone?
That empty feeling: void and dull.
Hearing nothing, but the freeway lull.
Alone, sitting in this corner room.
It’s simply another hotel tomb.
The smell of bleach and stale rugs.
It’s just me alone with the bugs.
This silent room has a singular view.
One tiny window; the vision askew.
Turn on the set, maybe a show?
Or sit in the silence of the traffic flow?
Maybe a soak and use the amenities?
Or listen to the next room obscenities?
Oh, the vastness of this tiny corner.
Brings on sadness; that of a mourner.
Check-out comes sometime ‘round ten.
So, I can go home and be along again.
