Glass Cage…

I am in an abstract prison cell,
One that permeates my every action,
An emotional penitentiary,
With splashes of colour,
As dictated by the warden of my emotional plight,
Forcing visions of angels,
(resplendent visions that I care not if you see, I do)
Save the non-fiction realities of imagined consequence,
Just it isn’t angels I am seeing,
The forbearers of my death,
Greatly exaggerated I believe once said,
Thought time and again I have seen my demise,
And I know the day will come,
Where my sentence will not be commuted,
(My sentences will be communicated transparently from inside this box)
Nor will your own,
Death be our guide from the moment of our birth,
Parole is not in the cards,
But the deck is loaded from the moment of our creation,
Jokers’ wild,
As are deuces, fives and sevens,
What’s the point,
Who’s to say,
Locked in the solitary confinement of my own appraisal,
And unnecessary punitive thrashings,
Send him to the hole they say,
Let him rot as he will when we put him in the ground,
Worm food they say,
For something I am yet to do,
Something I am yet to conceive,
My prison cell,
A glass cage,
(I throw no stones)
Where I as hunger artist perform,
(wondering if my internal Gregor has already started the metamorphosis)
Is replete with three squares a day,
Though I don’t eat two,
Yet my appetite is as promising,
As the Black Dog,
Howling incessantly in my ears at night,
(when the darkness comes it is complete)
Always alone,
In death permanently so,
And somehow surrounded by cubist elevations,
Picture perfect deviations,
Those seek to express the silence,
Colour taking place of words,
Shapes taking judgmental figures,
Pointing their fingers,
Straight to the heart of the matter,
Life sentence,
No chance of parole,
Death sentence,
Only the new normal,
Which isn’t normal at all…



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