A stranger
Comfortably trapped in a pin-striped room
Counting the cracks on the ceiling
Pointing out the dots on the floor
He passes the time by giving names to the stripes
Perhaps it makes him feel a little less
Alone
A little less
Trapped.
He does not sing anymore-
He has gotten tired of his voice
His vocal chords, rusted and cold;
The stranger has become a stranger to himself.
He has grown attached to his solidarity
He has found a home within the silence;
He no longer desire the company of the outside world
He has allowed his mind to be seduced by
The isolation of the stranger in the pin-striped room.