neatly laid, red-brick walls
behind them, my skin crawls

four corners, all empty
here i stay, on my knees

not knowing, when ill meet
the maker, the mover or the shaker

no windows, no way out
growing virulent, settling accounts

how many days, must i wait?
while the world within, turns to waste
- - -
deep confessions
swimming under the surface
no one's listening
when i shout them quietly
drowning in deception
mostly of my own making;
going through life while only taking

searching through shapes
traced by stars
and someday soon-
we'll live among them all