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Backrooms
Backrooms
Each turn and blink
mirrored the ones before
Hazy, buzzing lights drown endless rooms
left to encapture and lore
Cream, perspiring walls
tower the vision
Where I was before
becomes harder to envision
Lanky deep shadows
soar through the corner of my eyes
Maybe that right turn was pointless,
maybe it wasn’t wise
Your footsteps creak and sound
throughout the halls
What terror and suspense
could you enthrall
You peer behind shadows
under doorways
What terror and suspense
will come my way?
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I created this poem from an assignment given by a fellow classmate. The Backrooms remind me of a hazy fever dream that you have one night and forget the moment you wake up, and one day, years later, each and every detail of that dream hits you all at once. The Backrooms is a void caught in the mind that you constantly find yourself stuck in, doubting the will to get out.