Sitting on this wooden floor,
Suffering from depersonalization.
Glaring at the forbidden door,
Struggling with the mind’s creation.

It’s harder than you think,
Tuning out silent clamor.
Resting beside me it winks,
That ruthless, steel sledge-hammer.

He begs for me to make a move,
I’m pasted to the ground.
As long as I sit, he won’t approve,
And I will take the cowards crown.

I think for a long time
About my situation
Life is leaving me behind
I must move on, despite my frustration

A change in the air shifts understanding,
As clammy hands wrap around the handle.
Like boiling pasta calmly expanding,
Legs extend, and reunite with sandals.

I walk to the door with newfound sass,
With the hammer, no longer perplexed.
As I look upon it, it’s made of glass,
Guess what I did next.