…consumed

My words consumed, yet often misunderstood
my feelings assumed, my very existence misinterpreted
lost in translation,my voice now silenced
only returning in the echoes of pain
wounds that return over and over again
my sanity slipping away, yet still I battle
wielding my pen in a futile effort to find myself
there are no windows, there are no doors, just an intricate web
once perfect and shimmering in the morning dew
its many pathways carefully constructed, yet leading to nowhere
time is a cruel master and nothing this fragile
nothing this beautiful, can ever survive forever
now empty of life, its silver strings coated with dust one by one
detached by the wind one string at a time
still clinging to hope that will never deliver
this is my reality, caught in the sticky tendrils
unable to set myself free as my prison crumbles around me
© Ann Bagnall