Self-made prison
Nov. 2, 2013
Sometimes
Being on the inside
Is like being
Inside a prison
Of her own making,
, celebrating only
the company of
other insiders
the walls of her world
shrinking around her
fading in the rearview mirror,
though like a bridal car
much of the detritus
clattering behind,
attached to the bumper,
all those dreadful moment
clinging
even though the reason they exist
has ceased.
How does it feel to be there,
with them, one of
them,
when it is not a
place where you belong,
A temporary arrangement
Turning into what seems
Like a life sentence,
A solitary confinement
without even
the crossed out calendar
or daily planner
filled with now meaningless names
and appointments,
the new date of doom
only days away
and an all-important
election
that might serve as a
life raft
or an escape plan from this place to another.
How does it feel not to know?
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