The point I’m trying to make,
Is lost in the struggle to make my voice heard.

The thickness of mediocrity surrounds me,
Making the relief of breath unreachable, unbearable.

Suddenly I am cold,
My body stale as if I myself had not just lived there.

The place where the unwilling are taken.
The air of that place hangs on my clothes,
A stench I cannot rid myself of.
That place, my nightmare, the sum of all of my fears.

The sounds of that place wake my mind constantly in the night.
To wake horrified from a nightmare only to realize
That the nightmare is truly your life.

Your routines and daily steps,
Pounding their way into your high expectations.
Shattering and cracking them until the tiniest of questions
Blows away anything but that old familiarity which you once denied
But now seem to find pleasure in.

No exit, no escape.
You have become what you yourself one loathed.
Insignificant.
I mouth the word as if I am the one speaking it.
Insignificant.
Repeated as if I needed to hear it again.
Shut out the silences and let me hear the word!
Insignificant.
That is what I am.

-Marie
01/30/2006