Windswept locks on end,
tugging at my mind.
Stretching from my soul,
a welded tube strains.
A bird in a cage,
wearing away bars.
Reams of coiled rope squirm
flapping at my sides.
Thin sticks move in pairs
and poke at the dark.
The dark that ne'er leaves,
my side nor inside.
It clings with purpose.
Is it worse when
the pressure comes from inside?
Is it worse when
you can't escape and implode?
Oh!