smells of perfume, sweat and cigarettes
pervade this human tin,
there's an electronic ping,
a soulless voice announces the 7th floor.
Strangers in the lift avert their eyes
each locked in their own little world
of dramas, fears, the odd glimpse of joy
but not at this moment.
Oh, we all wear masks playing a role
but I can still see pain in a woman's eyes
and if, by chance, the lift were to jam
all masks would be thrown aside
but no, the door opens, I leave strangers behind.