One-Way Room

The blades rotate with deliberate laziness,
Hoping to strike an errant limb,
They watch with mechanical intensity,
Hoping for a poor soul to stray in.
The door entices passers by,
To peek into the room,
Only to be caught in the transparent,
Yet inescapable vacuum.
The beast inside slumbers lazily,
Rested and well fed,
Dreaming of its last victim,
And how he removed its head.
For the Principal’s Office is such a place,
Where the errant become undead,
I don’t know if it’s true or not,
I’ve just heard it said.