Reality doesn’t seem plausible but it’s isn’t a dream because it wrenches my heart and takes it
for a dive in the somberness of my gleam.
I walk to the little laughter but thrash the walls.
The muse comes to me a little late than every previous day, we giggle, it’s feeble, the essence
isn’t real.
Perhaps these walls are psychedelics or I am going mad slowly. The madness is my medicine, it
makes the walls hazy. The madness clings to my laughter as a remedy to my misery.
I sleep to the eternal mellow song of reality which intensifies my melancholia and abases my
dementia.
I dream of a hastened death, that will be my luxury.
Eighteen and thirty two make fourteen, I have spent an eternity, the walls ooze out the poison,
making me die slowly.
I am a convalescent of tomorrow, my past was glorious and in the moment I am dying slowly.
I don’t want to be saved, the time didn’t anchor for me and now I don’t want to wait for the
future that will be thanking today for preparing me.
There isn’t much to share because I saw a little beyond these bland walls of justice but took in a
lot to suffer the pain, I am unknown to the subtle embrace.
Living long is a treasure, a trove of reminiscent pleasure but I have less to recall and much to hail
about to the lord.
Is it a trial or a test?
I have introspected over the last eighteen years of freedom and haven’t sinned since fourteen.
I don’t search impunity.
I kept on crying, It isn’t me.
Life fled and walls told me the stories of mistaken identity.
I don’t seek vengeance but justice from the surety. Years taught a tale of good that I shouldn’t
seek the non-existent anymore.
Primordial were the days of my seeking freedom from the anguish.
Now within these walls I languish.
I seek wisdom, so I dare not to hope.
Act isn’t done so I don’t seek amnesty.
I don’t look for nuances anymore.
When I drown, walls tell me I haven’t hit the ground. I become wiser with every float.They have
seen the worst with better and I was just another, not new or younger.
I wry about the family, my father in the mud, my mother in the bed and I within the walls
laughing over the fate.
I am pure as a snowflake.
Death, now hurry to me.
Take me with yourself and give me the promised peace.