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