in this dark cold room
amongst the paint pots
and cobwebs.
I crave for the discomfort of a private seclusion
amidst the agony and the misery of this place.
The rain is the only sound
breaking the silence
on the tin roof,
every now and then a single rain drop
finds a way in
taps onto the
concrete floor.
I dare not switch
the light bulb on
It would spark a fuse
expose my secret hiding place.
I am the prey
the predictor
is my torment.
No one suspects anything
from the outside
the door is well disguised
it can only be unlocked from the inside by
sliding a frozen
steel bolt.
This is how the
writing gets out.
Avie.
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