You build a cage,
a crochet razorblade
barbwire tight web…
Your spider legs waltzing
on the intricate maze.
Not listening to the sun
rising… Setting…
Rising again over the
crimson horizon.
You weld, stitching
hermetic steel blankets
around your weakened
heart… Monochromic
Fabergé egg holding
sore unspoken
words. You peek one
last time, fake one last
smile, sigh one last sigh…
Sealing the cracks in your
pretty armor.
Pressure builds, you are
a Russian doll gowned
in multi-layered
shiny lead dresses.
Thoughts and dreams
multiplying like fruit flies.
Pressing on the walls…
Ready to blow out
at the cracking of a match…
Explosive soul trapped in
its laced prison of lies.
You are volatile…
Cyranny's Cove 
Such a powerful piece Cyranny. This person weaving his walks, his protection around him so no one or nothing can get it. But you say it so eloquently and with a kind of disgust, I think from your narrator. I’ love the last line. It’s perfect. “You are volatile…” Summing up that his walks are not helpful or for actual protection, but rather leave him in a position where he can’t communicate and wont, until he basically explodes, & is a danger to himself and the speaker b/c he’s woven such tight walks, b/c despite his efforts there’s cracks in his exterior and when it falls apart the situation will be critical. Loved this girl 🙂
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Ha walks *walls
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Well said!! Lovely piece!
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a laced prison of lies… what an exquisite phrase. Describes the situation perfectly….in such a gentle and yet sinister way.
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That is a very powerful poem.
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Thank you Jay-lyn 🙂 I am so glad you enjoyed it!
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You’re welcome. 😊
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