Confinement
I stare at the pale blue flowers on the wall that will never die.
I would tear each petal from the wall
just to see the seasons change.
Movement distracts everyone
from realizing each day they die more.
Inevitability
All I can hear is the waves crashing against folds of my brain.
survival loses its novelty after twenty years.
muted walls enraging
I stare, and they are ablaze
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Editor: Catherine Monkman
Photo: Helen Kramer/Flickr
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