haughty meadow
any constructive feedback is welcome as always and if u can plz give me typography ideas for this poem, it's super long
TW: Mentions of || death ||
walking through the walls, a never ending hallway
distantly familiar, with its same old white
eerily neutral, a manipulation to make you stay
600 harrowing days spent in that cascading cold hell
with its intangible cracks, not a single evidence they existed
each breath drawn, in suffocating air
such a cruel torturous tactic, where there's no remnant left
the weight of a thousand droplets pooling my eyes
but never enough to tip over the edge
words, paragraphs, speeches , bit down whole
the flesh of my tongue, folklore of innumerable wars
it took from me more than what I ever could've owed
and even amongst the other sinners, i remained sole.
the smallest of attributes, etched into the grooves of my mind
the way the gelid air froze, or the way a crepuscule shone
another blink, another memory
like intricate sculptures carved into my skin and bones
the white-knuckled grip on the door, to anchor me of yore periphery,
defying the very force that threatened to drag me
shackled wrists and bound feet, no choice left but to yield
from the passerby whose gaze wandered in,
it might've appeared to be a quotidian thing,
but even glass can shield the wounds that bleed
only those who succumbed could feel the pain
in quiet silence and quieter rage
to defeat the devils who dare deceive me,
i had to become one myself
to remain pure in a world of malevolence,
was an art in itself
the next time I opened the door, I made sure
to never look back in
to compete a game in a world of stratagem
there was no real praxis to win
dwelling in the new room, with it's same old light,
not an identical perdition, no
yet still paralyzing me whole
the new bodies impersonating as the old, like a conscious hive,
can somebody who's already dead, make it out alive?
round prism
thin bane
barren dagger
daring plinth
brazen elk
glass garden
foggy stirrup