It's useless like hotel bibles,

Sitting behind the things that have warranted meaning.

Isn't it funny to think about the things that have been made up to be so pretty?

What once held so much meaning set to the side in preference of something with actual functionality.

There's this space that used to be a door on the way down the stairs.

It's now covered up by this putrid white paint, but I can still tell where it used to open.

It gets me every time that that thing used to lead somewhere.

It used to serve a purpose, now useless like a hotel bible.

There was an apple the other day, sitting beside a tree.

I had to stop because it really hit me.

Apples are so sweet and delicious.

Apples are so delicate and nutritious.

But that one beside the tree will go uneaten because no one knows what else it has to it.

It's useless like a hotel bible.

I know it might be odd to think about such things, but I can't help my feelings.

Just what exactly warrants beauty?

What exactly warrants trust?

What is it exactly that warrants thought?

What do I know that warrants survival?

Sheesh, I don't know.

It's FREAKIN' USELESS, like a hotel bible.