The Walls

The walls.

I can touch them. They’re so close. They’re making me breathe heavier. They’re so close even my chained wrists can reach out to them.


The chains.

They’re so heavy. They keep me from moving properly. They are closed tight around my wrists and ankles. Tight. So tight it hurts.


The hurt.

It hurts so much. I’m screaming, pounding the walls, pleading to get out, looking at the single light above my head.


The light.

No doors, no windows, just the light and it keeps getting further and further away from the ground.


The ground.

The cold, hard ground that I keep falling to. My knees are scraped, the inside of my palms too. They’re bloodied.


The blood.

My heart pounds, making the blood rush through my veins. My heart pounds inside my head, remembering me where I am: Tied to the ground, losing my light, hurting inside, chained between four walls.


The walls.

They push against me, thinking they comfort me, but they’re crushing me.


The walls.




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