Trapped. It’s like being in a dream, a dream with no beginning or end. It’s like brick walls, crumbling and collapsing on you, till your lungs screech out as it succumbs and convulse in desperation, for even the slightest gasp of air. Drip by drip, it throttles every last trickle of your soul, as if you are a bug, trampled till you can move no more. Every last trill of blood has emanated from your body. You shriek piercingly within for someone but it is rendered useless as no one can descry you.
“Being trapped does not confine you, it reveals you.”
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One by one they disappear,
Like falling leaves when autumn’s here,
I catch one leaf as one drifts near,
And open my hand ...view middle of the document...
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The world was so black,
That it became black no longer,
And every time I look up,
The colours shift once more.
I am blinded by the dark.
Silhouettes, a lurking penumbra from all four corners like an impeccable cloverleaf, concatenating and tracing my every move, writhe around like gyres of shivery algid serpents integument me, scrunching me as if I was a bundle of fabric, being asphyxiate by a twine of frayed rope. They grapple onto me, with raven black grotesquely anamorphic fingers, drifting and wreathing their swift, gliding figures and suddenly – ICY COLD. They gloom the periphery of my body, magnetizing me into a pool of savages’ sharks, sagacious at the fact that I cannot swim. As they sadistically mutilate my flesh, shred by shred, from the inside-out and outside-in, as if they are a family of blood-thirsty hyenas, the sonorous echoes inside me amplify louder, and louder, and louder, till it feels like someone is thumping the caves inside of me for help. I try to run, but I can’t fight it.
“Being trapped does not confine you, it inculcates you.”
Day by day, my second home seems as if nothing has changed - it seems soulless and feral in the splendor of decay. It is as if all castles in the air, merriment and ardency of love has been sucked away, into a conduit leading straight down the fiery gates of hell. There is nothing left. Sometimes, I wonder to myself. Where have all the people gone. It seems like just yesterday they were camping in forests, singing songs and captivated by the dancing moonlight rays, in the purplish-silver sky. Maybe they all went into hiding like the last break of floating daylight, resplendent in colour from the unblemished-primrose shaped rondure, languidly hiding into his bed of illimitable mountainous Alps. Or perhaps they simply – disappeared.
“Being trapped does not confine you, it incites you.”
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