Classroom

AUTHORS NOTE: This poem was written for a 400-800 word dark poetry contest. I wrote it in class in high school  and certain little things inspired me. I’m not that dark of a person but I tried.

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Coiled around my neck.

Oxygen from my windpipe cut off.

Alienated and ostracized.

I’m stuck in this secluded area,

left to wander the vast spaces of my mind.

I hear the screams.

I smell the fear.

The goose bumps crawling up my skin like spiders.

I was once a fighter.

A fighter for love.

A fighter for freedom.

A fighter for life.

Yet now I struggle barely holding on.

Hold on loosely but don’t let go.

Slip just far enough away to escape the clutches of

your enemies.

Eyes bulging.

Lips turning blue.

Purple replaces the pale color of the skin in my face.

She once took to the bottle to drown her sorrows,

and now she goes to the rock to keep her mind off the

taunts and mocks.

They say LISTEN and SILENT are spelled with the same

letters.

Yet to object to this theory she knew better.

The pangs of distress have followed her throughout her

years.

Now each thing that has disturbed her comes out through

her tears.

The world is said to be round but what would happen if

it was flat again and we could just walk off the edge.

The edge of existence.

The edge of reality.

The edge of our dreams.

Who chases those anymore?

Can we still reach the stars?

Is the sky the limit?

Shot down by friends and family.

She’s bleeding inside out.

What’s black is now white.

Muffled terrors,

and shattered mirrors.

Her sun covered over and hidden from the world.

Life shriveled up.

Nothing coming or going.

Nail beds bitten down to the numbs.

Skin battered and turned to black and blue.

The air is stagnant.

It prickles her skin.

Just the feeling of her clammy hands have made her

shutter within.

Earth underneath quaking.

Knees bending and shaking.

Falling to the damp wet tile floor clutching tight the

base of her small torso.

No place to run.

Shackled down to reality.

Dreams to nightmares.

Wishes only coins in the fountain.

11:11 no longer makes sense.

The depths of the inception of this lone place

overwhelms the deception of this world.

Lines blurry.

Details forgotten.

Lucid thoughts now clouded with fear.

Everything she does is scrutinized.

All her talents no longer laudable.

No longer able to evoke sweet thoughts.

This intentional emotion of entrapment brought on by

the depression that follows her throughout the day.

Reality imaginative and put to the stage…

She’s actually sitting in class just thinking and in

her book it’s time to turn the page.

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