where he closes a door he opens a window
or so i am told
for every door closes, slams shut behind me
and turns into a wall

every wall solid, brick, concrete
impenetrable and grey
no cracks, nowhere to slip through and escape
i run my hands along the walls, feeling for a flaw
i find nothing but scraped palms

i hear voices on the other side
i hear people talking, praying

every voice muffled, muted, hushed
indistinguishable and grey
no words, nothing to slip through and help me understand
i scream and scratch against the walls hoping to be heard
i find nothing but raw psalms

i feel around for anything
a hammer, a chisel, a light switch
something to save me

but all i find are things i've thrown
plates, pillows, a shattered phone

the walls are closing in around me
they think i don't know that they're moving in each night
but i taste the closeness of the air each morning
and i know i don't have much time left

i don't have much time left