Shadows dance
Across my ceiling
As the blades of the
Overhead fan
Swish in their
Perpetual, circling
Motion.
I feel the
Rivulets of tears
Running down my
Upturned face,
Twin streams of
Sorrow making their
Way down the mountains
Of my façade.
The whirlpools of my
Fingertips trace the
Zigzag pattern on
The coarse blue
Blanket that
Absorbs my
Pain, as my eyes
Follow the dance of
Shadows on the ceiling
Of my prison.
Taupe walls and
Ancient wallpapers
Greet my every glance,
Tweaking the shadows’
Dance and draining
The life from my eyes.
The forest green of
My irises dart from
Corner to corner
Of this miserable place,
Desperate for an
Exit.
The stale air
Leaves a dreadful
Taste in my mouth,
Making me choke
On delicate words.
My limbs are weak,
And my heart is
Heavy.
Tally marks line
The walls,
Counting the days
Inside this prison.
If only they knew
How desperate I
Was to get
Out.
Beautiful, heartfelt, amazing. Your sensory detail captured my attention.
This is beautiful and heartbreaking. I hope you find the key to whatever is making you feel imprisoned…
“The stale air
Leaves a dreadful
Taste in my mouth,
Making me choke
On delicate words.”
I love the way your poem tells a story, but again it is one with an edge of mystery. Is the prison a metaphor? You have me thinking…that is the mark of a good writer!