Borderline

The Last Meal

A gaping hole in my sock. Spacious enough for one toe to find its way through. The prisoner runs for quick escape. Previous attempts were futile. Freedom was a farfetched notion. Dreams became distant hopes. Crying at night, hands to bars. Weeping. Daunting tomorrow. Yearning mother’s breast. Now curled up, I’m with the rest.

Confined to solitary. This tree grows secluded. In the middle of a raging forest. No mercy to the loner. Have feet, will stand. Find character. Make shelter. Scavenge nutrition. Self-educate. Explore self-worth. Or drown in self-pity. Cemented cell. Amplified cold. Dark. Dreary. Deadly. No drapes hang. I might hang myself.

Off the deep-end. Into an empty pool. Swimming through the hollow. Hear the echo. Grasp is distant. Flail. Weighed down by self-possession. Baggage. Burden. Borrowed boarding pass. Too much to carry-on. Compartments full. Overfull. At risk. At large. Compromised. Sinking. The Titanic soon split in two. At my ocean’s bottom.

Turtlenecks in the summer. Naked in the winter. Weather is but a game. Players feels the consequence. Slightly aware. Barely. Expanded pie. Homemade in the oven. Any excuse to slice. Hallucinated toppings taste good. Quality over quantity. Bon appétit, on death row. I asked for a pizza before self-execution.