To be here

Among the dust,

The circular tables and

Black ink memos

I sit

Eating

Thinking,

Trying to find a way out of

Everything

What can I do?

I feel

Caged

Tortured

Gradually losing

Control

Perhaps if I ask the question,

Who is depending?

Would I

Then

Gain my

Freedom?

I can't be here

Existing in this

Neon

Plastic

Atmosphere

Looking out at the sky.

The moon a crescent shines

Out from behind transluscent cloud

The chimney flutes standing upright,

Standing;

Another regimented reminder

Of the workplace

Formal showcase number

I am.

Can't you hear the voice crying

"Let me out of this

cream walled

speckled carpet

cell."

Pain deep within my mind

Seeking a situation

A simple revelation

Existing souly in creation.

I

Need

The freedom of it

The fresh feel of the creative wheel

Movement of ink riding the paper with passion

Reining in the writing stallion.

All rights reserved ©Caitlyn Blayne