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Jordan Foster Poem
Feet plated firmly on the black plastic flooring.
The aroma of old gas station food fills my senses.
The way out of my head is to my right, the path to be free, the path to leave.
But we move ever so, enough to keep me in, encapsulated in my cell, unable to be free.
I tuck my eyes into the darkness caressing my body,
my legs, everywhere but my face.
To go numb, to free myself, to find unconsciousness once more so that finally, finally the world seen outside these reinforced glass views finally stops. And I am free.
Copyright © Jordan Foster | Year Posted 2020
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