These days I feel a kinship with the four white walls,
Which guard my every move, every breath, every thought.
Observe how they close in on me, irked, distraught-
They make the world look small.
I speak to them in unfinished puzzles,
And superficial metaphors,
And subdued gurgles,
And defeated murmurs.
My words are nothing but a brook,
Whose melancholic babbles fill the chilly air.
They ...

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