Was it the room that spoke the terror,
Or the absence of life?
A small room,
The pale white walls
Held emotions stained with tears.
Secluded in the confines of that lifeless cube–symetrical to the touch–I lied
On a cold plastic matress,
Soiled by the confused ghosts that came before.
Tick, tock, tick
My mental clock spinning
A hundred revolutions faster
Than that of reality.
I want out!
Time pulsated to the beat of my heart,
The beat I wanted to stop.
Yet, no means to take my life:
I remained helpless, vulnerable to the death of me.
The seclusion grew, expanding like the night falling upon the suns rays:
As the solitude grew deeper,
So did the confinement,
Pushing me into the depths of my mind.
As the days pressed on,
The walls became more and more suited for conversation.
I’m losing it, I had thought.
Little did I know,
I’d be sent back to the hole
Three months later.