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.