already too tired to name this poem

About 36 hours, more, in this box bunker whatever you call it

feeling isolated which brings up great overwhelming feelings of loneliness

walked downtown this morning screaming let me go set me free

thinking about what to do makes me feel anxious

i feel completely cut off from my own heart

it’s like I’ve been swallowed

and nobody can hear me nobody can see me

invisible when i want to be alive

years ago, the first time i tried to run, i was exhausted and weak

there was nobody to meet me

all the strangers were high on something, they were blind

some hallucinated the blood on my clothes as fresh and not mine, imagined my desperate open hand held a hammer

didn’t make it far in that state, through that neighborhood

it took me years after being recaptured to find the strength and courage and clarity to start planning

i swore they were body language experts

monitors everywhere, each move hyper-analyzed

i had to master control of my thoughts

in a dark dungeon with the rats and spiders and ghouls

some nights, just for fun, the dungeon keepers would introduce a new prisoner

always previously psychoanalyzed, pre-selected, to match my unexamined fears

underground gladiators but the lions and tigers watched from arm’s length

i saw nothing of them, just the other prisoners of war

testing out new torture techniques

and the days down here i can sing are the days i’ve won

but i know from experience that after about 60 days i won’t even remember what the sky looked like

what food tasted like

how cold water stung my parched throat

i’ll remember the colors in a sunset

but if i’m distracted too many days in a row the black and white of the dungeon will seep into what i believe red and orange and blue and green to be

after 548 days of slivered knuckles banging on the only wood in the room

my will to ask questions, to demand answers, will have been broken

then my stomach will begin to eat itself

and i’ll be upset at the rats for not talking to me

one day this will be over

one day the last unfree person will be freed

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Author: tendrilwise

Hi, I have a diploma in Journalism, I've published a novel, and I am currently studying psychology. My odd way of viewing the world either gets me kicked out of parties or invited to them. Jenn McKay

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