What are you thinking?  

I don’t know

Hidden in the dark,

like a monster under a bed



Blank face, no expression.

Your walls are high, but so are mine

You’re trapped.

In a room without windows

A straight jacket around your heart

It’s trying to pump; you won’t let it



It’s dark down here

Pressure.

Drowns.

My.

Soul.  



I’m trying alright.

To piece together the way you work,

just like a potter and his clay

One day, you will cross this line

This fine line.  

We’ll be alright.