Solace

[pinkrobot]

Nothing seems peaceful in a place like this.

At the count of three the lockdown begins:

Thoughts bound by chains to the walls of the mind,

Stuck in transition from paranoia to

Solace.

Somewhere in the background, hands are clapping

And you bow as your performance ends,

Trying to find your audience in the twilight that surrounds you.

Shadows, dancing on walls,

Growing,

Stretching, feeding

Off of scraps of light bending as you race

Through what was once only night time, and nothing more.

Now, it is purgatory,

Eating the figments of your imagination that kept you sane,

Sweeping up the hopeful trail of bread crumbs

Meant to guide you home.

Dueling your madness,

You draw the only weapon you have.

A dream of a place with no walls,

No shadows,

No audience.

Solace.

Night time, consoled by figments of your imagination.

Nothing more.