Out of Prison (Again, Again, Again)

A Tortured Poet’s Regret — No7

Photo by Henry Tuchez on Unsplash

it was another day
where the poet couldn’t find
peace
in the woods of herself.

it was another night
where she tossed and turned,
endless,
as if it all would break her spell.

love wasn’t supposed to be like this, was it?
a cage, a maze of the senses, an unknown journey —
why would it be like this, over and over,
until infinity was a glimpse in the glass?

how could there be so many moments
where she felt trapped
in a tomb of her own making
just because he didn’t smile at her?

at every party,
every single one,
he chatted with his friends —
and the poet was left to the wayside.

when they’d get home,
every time,
it was an argument
building —

an inferno
raging,
ready
to ignite