There lies a picture at the end of the hall,

menacing and threatening over all.

Its eyes follow you in day to day walk,

they make you afraid to whisper; afraid to talk.

The sunken eyes of the photo reek death,

the little lies that speak and sit on the lips.

The painting haunts the daytime and night alike,

through all hope there it lays a spike.

So this is why I hate the middle school hall,

For the picture hung on end that is menacing and threatening over all.