The House at the End of the Road

It is a human warehouse,
A modern day travesty,
Punishment for those
No longer able to serve
Society’s needs.
It houses refuse,
People whose only crime
Was having lived too long,
And neglecting to have
Anyone who cared enough
To care for them
When they could no longer
Care for themselves.
It is drab and dreary,
And there is no escaping
The monotony of its routine.
For those unfortunate enough
To be confined within,
Time is an enemy
Which must be endured,
And life is a slow
And excruciating torture.