On the floor in the dark room, Paralysed. The occasional lightbulb flicker Brings some hope back to my blue-glazed eyes, But it's a mere distraction.
I imagine that the lightbulb can see; Awake when it's shining, Otherwise asleep. In the light I seem free, My body moves. My voice, it speaks, Speaks like the one it once belonged to, Before the locked room lost its key.
The bulb will never see The ******* the ground, Or the shelves that collapse Silently, as tears tie her down.
So why am I surprised, That the lightbulb never stays? Through its eyes, the room is a palace With a princess, troubles seemingly erased. How would it know of the dungeon That is formed where she lays?