TrappedA Poem by coobiesaid
Ninth floor: At the last moment she snuck through the door and like in the movies, they close behind her. Headed to the same place in this steel cage; down to ground level, the sound—silence. Eighth floor: The reflection of my face in the mirror on the wall impales her judgment, makes her wonder Seventh floor: She looks again, turns and in turn, I look past her. Eventually, her whole body turns to face me and the past. Sixth floor: I consider climbing through the tiny windows of her eyes to embody the being I desire most to kill. But I can’t—I would need to be much smaller. Fifth floor: Would she scream if I told her how I never thought of murder until now? I’d let the stubble on my chin drag across, mutilate her sensitive skin. Fourth Floor: I believe that I can kill her with my mind when her face turns red does she see the words inscribed inside my skull? Third floor: Have the escaped my brain to invade this deafly enclosure there’s a tear duct explosion that washes her windows. Second floor: It seems she knows, seeing it in my head those lingering last words First floor: She said, “Don’t ever talk to me again.” © 2008 coobiesaidReviews
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1 Review Added on May 2, 2008 Last Updated on May 2, 2008 Author
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