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by Gilbert M. Davila
My body and I are locked in a cage; 
I can feel my sanity slip, slip, slipping 
Away, devoured by a dark cloud of solitude. 
There's a never-ending pain in my head, 
Like so many demons chewing on my brain. 
There's voices laughing, screaming, whispering: 
Insane! Insane! Insane! 
But I'm saying! I'm saying! I'm saying 
That I. Must. Surface. 
I must surface for a breath, of reality. 
But the weight on mind is holding me down. 
I can't seem to find a shoulder to lean on-- 
Presently, no one's around. 
I swear that I can hear the distinct sound 
The pieces of my fractured sanity make 
As they hit the floor of my mind and break 
Into even smaller pieces. 
I find myself on my knees, crying: 
Tears streaming down my face, blinding 
Me as I desperately try to gather 
The pieces of my fragmented life. 
I wipe the tears from my eyes, 
Wondering how I can feel so cold and dead inside. 
And how long can I survive as 
The resounding tick-tock of the clock 
Of confusion determines my time? 
And how much more must I endure before 
The wave of madness--that is sure to follow-- 
Comes crashing down upon me, flooding 
The hollowness of my very existence? 
Then, I ask myself: Does it matter? Because 
What it means to me will ultimately be a memory. 
And even memories, like the paint on an old car 
That's being exposed to the sun's rays year after year, 
Will start to slowly fade away. 
So here I sit--cage--exposed to the rays 
Of insanity, year after year after year. 
Just me, my fading memories and broken dreams, 
Staring at the blank, white wall that seems 
To perfectly represent the emptiness that is-- 
My life.