Poetry of thought

Shut-in

Just when I thought the paint was dry
And the mural was finally coming together.
The walls started melting.
My work had all been a lie.

My corner keeps getting deeper and deeper
And the walls keep flooding in.
My room is a mess.

But I can lock the door.
With me inside.
My sketches will survive.
Maybe I will too.

No one will know until they open the door.

But I won't let them.

Not anymore.