…consumed
My words consumed
yet often misunderstood
my feelings assumed
my very existence
misinterpreted
lost in translation
my voice now silenced
only returning
in the echoes of pain
wounds that return
over and over again
my sanity slipping away
yet still I battle
wielding my pen
in a futile effort
to find myself
there are no windows
there are no doors
just an intricate web
once perfect
and shimmering
in the morning dew
its many pathways
carefully constructed
yet leading to nowhere
time is a cruel master
and nothing this fragile
nothing this beautiful
can ever survive forever
now empty of life
its silver strings
coated with dust
one by one
detached by the wind
one string at a time
still clinging to hope
that will never deliver
this is my reality
caught in the sticky tendrils
unable to set myself free
as my prison
crumbles around me
© Ann Bagnall
