the room

The floor bleeds with every wet, passing day. Mildew spores take root in the mucus of sleeping noses, and the foulness bleeds into sleeping brains. Sneezes of desperate minds wake twisted, aching bodies from beds that intend to suffocate. Please sleep forever, they whisper to floating dreams. The room knows not the outside world, but fears it all the same. It fears the days when the floor feels the raping of rain, when the infection spreads, when the humans getting paid to care...don't. The room is slowly dieing, turning into itself a musty grave.