My prison is like no other,
not rectangular or square.
It is a perfect circle
and mine alone to bare.
No footholds to cling to.
No rough edges to feel.
A perfect smooth cylinder,
shiny and solid like steal.
My screams would ricochet
in my endless tunnel of hell,
swirling forever and ever
in my lonely cell.
The ceiling would be glass,
so that people could look down,
at me in my prison,
wearing disapproving frowns.
There would be no clothes
laid upon my back.
Displaying all my scars
from my own attacks.
In the centre i would lay
in a curled up frame.
Tears streaming down my face
in waves of shame.
My body would shake
in ripples of fear.
As my memories haunt me
the images too clear.
(A sharp pain slashing
at my skin
As his fists beat me
his face wearing a grin.)
The one wall would be clear
allowing me to see
my own broken reflection
shining back at me.
I would look at my face
and wonder who was there.
As I would be unfamiliar with
my face washed out and bare.