White-Walled Rooms

Looking onwards, towards the hourglass room,

Beside where the Erlenmeyer flasks stand.

Thinking, why doesn’t one speak,

Duress in the real-world-light.

Panic stricken by night.

 

Hidden beneath the Store-Cupboard of Questions,

Ruminating, cascading – light utterly faded.

Walked corridors, and descended stairs, ability waning.

 

A teetering life;

Strangled and brain-dead.

Energy expired, nothing to lose.

Nuclear powers’ spent fuel rods.

 

Cowering by the Natural Gas taps –

Arms wide open, embracing,

As the flames stream, vicious, sun-hot,

Wasting.

 

Glance this way;

Stride over to me – understand implicitly.

Because surely, after all, you knew…

 

And take me away to the place of no rain.

Drifting in silence, through endless time and space.

Questionless, regretless, perfectly prideful.

Only in dreams, I imagined.

 

Sat on plastic stools, I waited,

Silently for a day with no foundations.

Pencil lines, black lines, thick lines.

No end. No certain destination,

For the person who holds the lab at ransom.

 

Sure, you just went on gliding,

Smiling too.

That was alright, I didn’t mind.

Just the times, and the excuse to touch,

To tickle, and to prod, to joke – everything.

So, I waited,

Right by the Erlenmeyer flasks.

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