Eleven days, and I'm out of this decrepit tomb.
These people float aimlessly and my words have no room.
They wrap me instead, in numbers and letters.
that drag me down as they open my eyes.
their disguise.
here are my words.
transport me to a different world.
and if unraveled delicately, my ticket out.
even though seasons change and snow finds it's way,
the glass windows repel the condition of the extraordinary day.
these phrases and conjunctions twist loosely to be mine.
when my eyes glaze over the clock as if they can steal away the time.
when my colors show, they rearrange the light that
produces a glow.
and dreams of mine that were vivid turn blank like freshly carpeted snow.