THAT DARK ROOM
What would you call days in captivity;
Where your only companion,
Is the imprint you leave in the sheets.
Days where the jailer and inmate;
Are all one and the same.
Days where you lose all sense of time;
Failing to see the sun live out its day.
Days where you speak not to a single soul,
And your ears, amnesic to the sound of words.
Days where your lonely eyes,
Sees not a single face;
Not even yours.
Days where you cast aside your trusted mask;
To bleed out the poison;
From the wound in your soul,
Through those pair of lonely windows.