Walking past the door my jacket hits the floor–
Pits of lead clatter in its shredded holes
While flakes of crimson peel– all my head will feel
Til I may lay it down is that cold hardness of metal poles.
Familiar weight of days on me– a single pang in my knee
And I fall– I’ve never felt so small–
O! T'is the call! The light tinkling-scratching within my cells while
my hand descends and collides with the hard ground.
They are there, just as before:
My friends– waiting,
Their smiles and runs mirroring mine as I
Rush to embrace– to heal.
I spy my entrance to their world–
That plastic case, that shining disc where
I make my escape – with a spark of life
I leap– they call– they beckon.
A glow completes my leave – a bright
Burst of light fills my vision and
I go – awash with their world
My curbed laughter – I free it.
The outside still jabs at me,
For unrelenting is the constant war.
O dearest life, I shall return–
Once my veins shall flood with this.
About the Creator
Em E. Lee
Writer-of-all-trades and self-appointed "professional" nerd with an infinite supply of story ideas and not nearly enough time to write them down. Lover of all media, especially fiction and literature. Proud advocate of the short story.
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