No clue where to go when you trap me.
Four walls, tinted dreary -- grey, matte, dull --
glued together, or nailed or screwed, like me when I'm in you
and have twenty floors to go, or maybe just two,
boxed in being pulled my twisted metal wire,
making me mental and paranoid that you'll drop me to my doom,
no one around to see your sadism gone too far.
Or you let me live--or you let me believe that I can--
and I walk through your mouth with my foot caught behind
and your teeth start to shut until they clamp on my leg
and my lungs have already collapsed twice in five seconds.
But to my surprise, you release me to move forward in life
and get to my class or hotel room or wherever I need to be
that seems to need you for assistance in transportation
when my hands are too full or there are x-many stairs and I'm alone.
So I stand for a moment, staring back at you
as you make your slow descent to take others captive
and make them face death.
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