A series of short stories.

Red Walls

When I look around all I see is red walls, blood stained walls.

The walls are closing in, but they never touch me.

I try to speak, but I’m never heard.

The words I think never escape my mind.

My mind is weak like a damp piece of paper, I can rip but no one will care.

Troubles are the least important thing on my mind.

Life is short but my life is shorter still.

Every day I try to understand the meaning of life. Yet every day I fail.

When they call I don’t hear them.

When the touch me, I don’t feel them.

My body is as numb as my mind.

The reason for life is no longer with me.

I want to go.

But no way seems best.

I want to leave.

But no door seems the right one.