Beyond the Way Out

Sometimes there is nothing

inside me, just a dark palace

no lantern could entice

a way out of.

Sometimes the yesterdays

build up on the walls like mold,

hanging from the candelabras –

spiderwebs, just thicker,

harder to dust away.

Sometimes the child I once was

sits quietly in the dungeon,

a chain and lock around each hand,

gazing up through the bars of her prison

into my eyes: her only window.

And sometimes I feel her twitching

inside me like a reanimated corpse,

the shadow of a smile playing its way

across the skin of her stitched,

twisted, well-worn lips.

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13 thoughts on “Beyond the Way Out

  1. Sometimes the yesterdays

    build up on the walls like mold,

    hanging from the candelabras –

    spiderwebs, just thicker,

    harder to dust away.
    Wow ! x

Thoughts? I love those.

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