often, in small rooms

I try to think of something gravely profound

maybe add some depth

to my impending claustrophobia

the closing walls

whitewashed and textured

seem intricately abominable

every single picture frame

every nail, every crevice, every little damp spot

inching closer

borrowing my fears, in vestigial currencies

this apartment, its inhabitants

are the products

of an urban time travel

which skipped people like me

while selecting those fit to survive

the dog eat dog of these kinetic walls

forever palpable in these daily battles

we wage

upon the world and upon ourselves

hoping to find a tiny little apartment

like this one

for ourselves

and all this while

the walls of this poisonous mausoleum

are drawing closer

cementing themselves into a parallel queue

ultimately leaving

us indistinguishable


and truly, dead.



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