Call 911

It’s clear we have two options now.
You could dial the cops and
They’ll shuffle in,
Lead me away.

No sweat off your brow, eh?

I’d rather you just let me go.
Avoid it all, that unholy
White Room Din.
Ruin my day

To write a poem, they say.

And if I’m still forced to spill my objective,
I think I will end up writing
That fucking poem, Okay?

But I’m just dying
To get back.
To make love again In style.

From the floor’s perspective.

Leaving rug tracks for a mile.

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3 Comments

Filed under a cage, freedom, love, poem, poetry, psychology

3 responses to “Call 911

  1. Megha Patel

    I like! Especially the ending.

    Liked by 1 person

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