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Poem




Look at the way the clock hands move
But the time doesn't change at all
In a white walled room without windows
It could be morning or it could be evening
But it's the buzzing noise drilling into my head
And reverberating down my spine
Until I feel like screaming
That reminds me I exist but do not exist
That I am in a dream and a nightmare
That I am both awake and asleep
The walls start to move like ocean waves
Until I get up from my chair 
Picking it up and bashing it against the table
Watching splintered wood flying
And blood oozes down the walls
As I descend into madness by laughing
I bash the remains of the chair against the table
Creating deep gouges in mahogany
Until it resembles my agony
And the white walls are forever stained red
Until I dig a chair leg and gouge deep into the back wall
Revealing the empty black of a void behind it
But then when I blink I jolt back to awareness so I can
Look at the way the clock hands move
But the time doesn't change at all
Because it's all in my head
And I have no way to get out

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