Sitting in a open room,
Yet feeling so closed inside,
Claustrophobic,
It’s getting harder to breathe.
...
Train of distraction,
Web of thought,
ever expanding, ever changing.
...
I don't have a specific style of writing, nor do I concentrate on a particular subject. I write when I feel like it, and when I am feeling strongly about something. I LOVE writing and if there was the opportunity, someday that is what I'll be doing.)
Trapped
Sitting in a open room,
Yet feeling so closed inside,
Claustrophobic,
It’s getting harder to breathe.
His face like stone as he enters,
Giving her a look that sends her stomach in turmoil,
Her gaze remaining on his face, waiting for a sign,
Something to tell her he cared.
Her mind wanders to better days,
Happier days, Peaceful times,
When those withering looks and glares,
Short answers and clipped remarks
Ceased to exist.
He turns away,
Proceeding to take off his jacket,
Her face a picture of grief.
Nicola Forde - 11/04/2009