Prison

by wordypenguin

The same old room
I’m waking up again
Windows offer no relief
I’m edged toward the end

My skin’s a book of sorrow
Composed of empty lines
Story of a withered youth
A story of decline

A face that barely knows
The eyes that fail to see
The dreams and the desires
Are distant memories

The drives are full, they overload
The slate cannot be cleaned
There’s so much to remind me
Of who I used to be

I scream out every prayer I have
For I constantly recall
No one really listens here
Except these empty walls

Now I move toward the only door
That will lead me out of here
But as I exit all I ever see
Is that same room reappear

3 Comments to “Prison”

  1. The book of your skin– a very revelatory line that intrigues and opens a wide door to the rest of your poetry ! Very personal and, mysterious too!

  2. These two lines say you are trapped.

    But as I exit all I ever see
    Is that same room reappear

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