The Silent Trapeze

The room never gets bigger,
The more I want it to,
The more it constricts.

I swear the paint on the wall
Is threatening apprehension.
I swear the window is mocking me.

Time doesn’t exist here.
None but the tick of mortality,
And that heavy silence,
The answer to my inquiries.

The silence sharpened
By the haunting memory,
The morbid melody of your voice.

Did I ever have a choice?
Was there ever any other option,
then condemnation?

This delicate balance
Between joy and despair;
I’m exhausted.

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