Walls tall enough to hide the sun
assuming it was there at all
provide the cell I shall escape
if doom will have its way
horrors lurk in each corner
whispering promises none should hear
evoking screams that few heed
echo loudly in response

resounding themes of egress
though not based in hope’s sweet balm
that was lost long ago
when alarms became confused
now the peels of distant bells
lead to outcomes worse than death
as the mirrors forever face
rebounding terror felt within

the outward is replaced
without regard for what may come
ruins without bars
when sanity no longer stands
the corridor is always there
allowing exit from this jail
ideation provides the path
imprisonment is still preferred.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20181018.