Modern Romanticism

I change direction
upon an instinct
to deliver more
than remorse.

It’s in vain
once I notice
I’ve no breath left
to force open a door,
Stuck with the circle
inside a rectangle.

This room’s surveyed me,
challenged my will
to start a fire,
beyond control.

This room’s revisited me,
watched me from the inside,
while I’m filtering away
all of my honesty.

Trapped among walls,
closing in,
leaving me to wail,
begging to be released
from this jail.

I won’t speak,
when what I scream
won’t be heard,
for my rescue.

I’ll just think
about the next turn
with the same thoughts
facing me backwards.