The Container

Rating: 5.0

There's no-one there
As I cannot let it so
The black gas is contained within
My lungs & heartfelt melancholy.

Solitary purgatory
Imprisoned by the walls
Of my mind
Broken bricks laid on
Foundations of pain.

Purgatory as in it is
not hell. A hell I could
Justify, dwelling in pain
Security in knowing
There's nowhere left to fall.

Feeling small, and confused,
and scared.

What if this is all
Self-inflicted?
Could the massochist that once scourged the flesh now need deeper ways to purify her soul?

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