I find myself locked inside

A room the size and shape of a human being

With windows that can never be opened

And a door that can only be exited once.

Inside this graveyard of thoughts and ideas

And dreams – things I may once have seen

The ceiling and floorboards crumble, and slowly

The walls draw in.

The foundations shudder with passing days

Timber turns to rot

Circuits that used to work, to turn on lights or

Keep the building heated – start to stop

The room seems to shrink and shrivel,

And I, trapped in a snowglobe-prison

White flakes of age and illness clouding my eyes

Find my hand resting on the door handle.



© Copyright David Marriott  all rights reserved­.