Locked Away

An old poem unedited.

These clinical white walls
A desk, a drawer;
A wardrobe and  chair
A paper bag and a straw.
A white, two metre door
And a lock that is thin,
To keep people out,
To lock myself in.
A window on the roof
Too high to reach
And a single beam
White like bleach.
The floor is a mess.
A suitcase nearby.
Some tear drops there.
A single dead fly.
A letter says rejected,
My mind says that too.
I have nothing
But my white walled room

The End

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