Room 666
Men in heavily tailored suits sing hymns of pompous worldly desires.
Encircled at a table with infinite power and bottles of wine,
They sit on thrones made of gold, yet still whine.

They complain about the tap running too slow,
While people outside wait for the same water to flow.
These men are too careless and shallow to worry about drought.
Enveloped by gluttony, they only fear their dirty money might run out.

Room 333
Children are running, jumping, and screaming,
Each carries a basket overflowing with lavish treats —
a reward for their monstrous clothing.

From a distance, a child sighs:
“This candy’s disgusting, way too dry!”
Can candy be disgusting? I don’t understand why.
When I’ve seen my parents trade their dignity for our family.

But what’s more terrifying than the poltergeist masks they’re wearing?
The sound of my parents’ hearts breaking.
While the rich mimic monsters prowling, our stomachs keep growling
It’s not all the time that it’s their fault we’re unfortunate,
But their fear of supernatural monsters is a privilege I wish I shared.

Room 000
Land is burning, crops are dying,
At the center of it all, farmers crying: “Will this agony ever end?”

A father’s pockets running dry,
A dinner table is empty on a Monday night.
A mother is ill, and her throat is dry,
A disaster is obviously waiting to strike.

I stare at the children and hope they survive.

Watching the disarray, I can’t help but ponder: “Is this a worthless kind of ‘horror?’”
While others are scared of the boogeyman under a tall, expensive bed,
I am frightened by the thought of seeing my father’s farm dead.

I let out a breath of disdain as the last door shut.
Fear prevails in this asylum, but indifference is what keeps the monsters latched.