The Restless Poet

The fatuous slant of light greets me from the corners of the walls of this prison. Is it solitary confinement if it is voluntary? Maybe not voluntary but laced with moments of pitiful self-preservation by way of avoidance. I need to unload the elephant foot off my chest before I succumb to suffocation.

Suffocation- did he know he was cutting off the air when he covered my face with the disgusting pillow bleeding feathers of pin-striped anger? Did he care? I was tough, I could have held in my screams if only to inhale the stale air mixed with fear. The one thing I remember like the scar of a bolt of lightening across the darkened remains of a twisted tree trunk after the storm. Not remember but relive. Three a.m. I’m sucking the air through the ghost of a pillow meant only to stifle an already mute child. Every single night.