A Constriction of the Soul

Deep pockets of gloom,
anger sits like a sieve on the soil (soul).
You are alone in this uncertain place.

To acknowledge a life that is broken,
seams frayed like the edges
of your forgotten joy,
discarded on a shelf 20 years ago.
It is time to dig yourself out of this nightmare
disguised as a dream.
A dream down a rabbit hole that
once felt familiar has become
an illusion of safety.
Screaming down an ever narrowing path,
a constriction of the soul:
Who does it belong to?
What is it worth?

Surely more than the quarter
slid into a coin slot and
out pops a cheap toy reward.
You are more than a plastic prize
destined to be thrown away after the fascination fades.

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