Scene 194: To the Fall of Mr. Smith

You walked

and

breathed. With the smells of

plastic and

coffee

in your

glassy eyes. The touch of

manilla in your

mouth.

Under the fluorescent light,

or the 'green' lights,

did you breathe?

Or

did you just

Live?

A tad late, I know. Midnight homework had to be done. Barely finished that on time.

But here's this poem. I wrote it earlier today during class, during a discussion of the Death of Ivan Ilych, if that explains anything.