it's the fire inside,
if what i read is truth.
constrained by
steeled sheets,
the chains wrap
clockwise around;
a shell to weather
the storm, inside.
thick skin,
leather shoes,
words that drive the loop -
if mary ever
left her room,
color would play a tune.
every item studied
makes us die; bite
the apple then
taste the lies.
living on the inside,
a hope in favor
of saferseas.
always playing
hide-and-seek,
as if soaking in
truths might flood
tubs, never
setting me free.