By Aydin Hodjat V
time
ticks away endlessly, uselessly
a lazy river on a sticky may afternoon
a barren march to the infinite
my cage of isolation suffocates my mind
white walls, white door, white table
seemingly scrubbed to neat perfection
but wasted eyes reveal a catalogue of ages
a map of days, evidence of my former selves
they too straining for freedom from these white walls
was it white? i see now the stained and dirty table
smothered with pen and paint and grime
veined with crawling scratches and inked scabs
and leaded currents flowing over the sides
it speaks to me, grasping for my very core
inviting me to its abstract, murky home
yearning for me to escape my white walls, white door, white table
to step away from makeup quizzes and fading due dates
and to join it in its distorted, fruitless reality
