Endless static rattles my confined domain
home to voices familiar--
always unwelcome.
Prolonged imprisonment; desperation
yields these chains not of mass.
Mere figments they are.
Are the screens and their unintelligible,
motioned illusions abstract enough
to conjure a new image
to obsess over?
Nay, I remain tranced, ridden
in dismay. No fulfillment.
Every image I decipher
escapes with the last.
Will trickling like icicles
before summer's Sun.
Subject I forever am to
this sadistic therapy.
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 2:19 AM UTC
Endless static rattles my confined domain
home to voices familiar--
always unwelcome.
Prolonged imprisonment; desperation
yields these chains not of mass.
Mere figments they are.
Are the screens and their unintelligible,
motioned illusions abstract enough
to conjure a new image
to obsess over?
Nay, I remain tranced, ridden
in dismay. No fulfillment.
Every image I decipher
escapes with the last.
Will trickling like icicles
before summer's Sun.
Subject I forever am to
this sadistic therapy.
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