Within 4 walls

Have been sitting at the Baillieu library computers frantically trying to cram when I looked up and saw 2 poems pasted up on the wall:

"Like the vacant stare
of office windows
I look upon this world.

I wait in dark doorways
and there I stay, waiting
waiting in vain
for that that will not come.

waiting for what
I must but create.
the waiter of this world
I will remain forever
in this state."

The second one:
" Starved for words,
not thoughts,
only words.

I know what I
think, feel, see.

I know not what to say."

I wonder who wrote them. They are somehow so dark and full of despair, yet so honest, reflective and full of truth. was he/she calling out for attention? For help? Or just to find reprieve through writing and being comforted by the fact that someone out there now knows?

hmm... poetry can be such a cathartic experience sometimes-- it lets you express yourself freely behind a veneer of ambiguity, but at the end of the day we still need people, don't we? Words, beautiful as they are, only offer momentary reprieve. I hope he/she finds that listening ear.