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The Cocoon

The curtains a cocoon

which I have outgrown

crushing me

though I dare not venture out

my wings maimed

by an internal eternity.


Some days they open

as the sunlight shines

and snow falls

yet it remains a parallel world

a door to an unfamiliar universe

remains locked.


Even inside plates pile up

like a porcelain possum

they play dead

whilst I fake at being alive.


Washing hangs ominously

a sacrifice to mundane rituals

a futile appeasement

to the gods of normality.


I want to run away

sprint through fields of grass

bathe in waterfalls

and escape the world in greyscale.


I dream of utopia but cannot fathom it

the idea of peace taunts me,

like a childish tick of naivety

scratching away at our

“civilized” existence.


And so I hunch under my covers,

hide from the world around me.


Friends transform this fortress into a palace

but that too is a fleeting moment.


These walls are insulated with self-deprecation

and the urban landscape a war zone.


I escape to sleep

and dream of my Pandora.


◄ In Soviet Russia...

Flash Mob ►


tony sheridan

Thu 4th Apr 2013 23:36

I can relate to this. Well done. Take care, Tony.

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