Incarceration
The silence is pressing against my numb eardrums,
Not even broken by a solitary fly buzzing,
These four stark whitewashed walls my scenic view,
Differences between day and night fuzzing.
Light from neon strips rips the grips on humanity,
As I clutch on to the saint on my necklace,
The only possession allowed in this airtight prison,
Away from the rest of my own human race.
The door locked from the outside with a keypad,
Five numbers between me and fresh air,
A porthole within that bolted exit for my nutrients,
Food isn’t the word for what arrives there.
Minutes into hours into days staring into nowhere,
Incarcerated without a trial of my peers,
Sentenced by the evidence of an involuntary number,
A victim of man’s reaction to its worst fears.
No stimulation to fill the endless free time I have,
No conversation about my hard plastic mattress,
No clock to watch my life slipping away from me,
No idea when my release date from this fortress.
The solid walls and foundations have been rocked,
The population this world have relied upon,
The freedoms to live my life without boundaries,
Have all died from this pandemic and gone.
Part Dalek 