What happens when your mind builds walls you cannot break?
I languished while a biting wind roared from the north and dank stark walls inched toward me. My bloated corpse floated beneath an icy thickness. The radiance of my spirit dimmed.
Serpents slithered and squirmed around the tower. They bit my conscience and poisoned my soul. They caused my heart to bleed in black sorrow.
My lungs ached to burst as society pinned me to the stony floor of claustrophobia. My thoughts launched missiles at civilization.
Disembodied voices wandered the hallways. Whispered intrigue fed the cruel swine who fattened on the suffering of others. The demonized masses.
Endless contaminated words smeared like excrement and polluted the world. There was no compassion inside.
Beyond vast walls, fear craved to devour my nerves. They withered and failed. It was easier to avoid fear’s sticky grip, even if that meant enduring a dark and cold prison.
When fear sank its claws into my flesh, even a friend appeared demonic. There was no peace inside.
I puffed, panted and sweated my way through the hefty gates. A burning need for the sun to warm my face. To sense the soothing skin of a lover glide over me.
—H, prisoner of serpents and stone
