Tezos

locked in my room

Creator

tz1WAx3Vdh5oa5Yyn9BYzppQ7jdiE8qwzhUH

Description

the walls breathe slow wet gasps in and out pulling the stale air with them the computer hums a low dirge and the television blinks mindlessly at the dark the clock ticks but never forward it chews its own hands ticks in sideways circles locked in my room the words seep into the drywall like mold into the bedframe into the mattress where dreams come to drown locked in my room i paid for this cell i pay to stay here wrapped in its slow digestion a job that eats my body buys a box to rot inside freedom they call it a freedom i can afford at the low low price of everything else i cook here stirring food into a smell that curdles and clings i eat here swallowing shame at a cracked table i sleep here tangled in sheets that tighten around my wrists i wake here under a ceiling that droops closer every morning dripping slow pearls of heavy sweat locked in my room locked in my room the window is only an oil painting now a flat smear of fake light beyond it no cities no trees only the slow churn of a world i am not invited to the floor flexes as i walk trying to remember how to hold me up the closet mouth yawns wider leaking the sour breath of dead clothes i do not open it i know what waits inside a version of me with no name left a version of me still whispering locked in my room was there a time before this a boy with wild dreams barricading a door with stuffed animals and ambition or was that just another room pretending to be a kingdom another cage dressed up in brighter paint the memory folds in on itself crumples blows away under the draft leaking through the floorboards i do not invite anyone i will not snare anyone else in this place they would smell the rot in the air they would hear the ticking the slow counting down to nothing they would look at the walls and see my hands growing out of them my eyes peering from the peeling wallpaper locked in my room locked in my room locked in my room at night something moves behind the closet a careful scratching a measured breathing as if the room itself is dreaming of me the furniture creeps by inches when i am not looking arranging itself into new sharper configurations the bed sighs when i lie down as if tired of carrying me the mirror shows me rooms inside of rooms spiraling deeper until the face looking back is made of wood and nails the clock melts down the wall in long black tears the walls pulse like arteries the air thickens slows tastes of iron and dust i try to scream but the sound folds neatly into the folds of the mattress and somewhere under the floorboards something laughs a slow patient laugh leaking up through the cracks curling into my ears it is not a voice i recognize but it is a voice that knows me it has always known me the door disappears the bed grows roots the television blinks once and goes dark the computer shuts its single eye the closet sighs open and the room breathes me in sinks me into its walls paints me into its corners i am the ticking i am the locked door i am the slow breath of the rotten mattress i am the sigh behind the closet i am the hum of the dead screen locked in my room locked in my room locked in my room 🍕🕷️🍓