Observation #1

Poetry based on observations.

The cold breeze drifts in through the doors,

the teenage boys and girls coming through

Two white, dirty buckets quite far to my right,

my legs outstretched, inevitably being tripped over 

I'd pull them in, but I can't seem to bring myself to do it, 

and they walk up the stairs, staring at me with a glare

Is it hatred? Is it disappointment? I don't know, 

they seem to all blur to be the same these days 

Author's Note

Feedback appreciated!