THE HOLLOW ROOM
February 11, 2007
© Fred Dumpling. Redistribution is prohibited.
Grip the bars more tightly— don't let them slip.
The rain pelts the floor of the cage you've built,
The roar drowns out the hollow words
that escape from your lips in the hollow room.
They're decoys. They're puppets. They're ordinary.
You're ragged and rough, and the edges are sharp.
They ricochet off the walls and they drop into mud,
and the words explode to screams. It's a kind of therapy.
Every day follows a set of commands.
You go through the motions. Everything else fades
into a monochromatic background.
Escape through your lips in the hollow room.
You're the only one in here.
You're the only actor in this tragic play.
You're the only one in here.
The rain and sweat slick your hands, gripping desperate to— something.
You're the only one who can see in full color.
Everything else stands around you, half-blind,
and it all twists away from your superior mind.
They can't enter here. No, they can't see inside.
You stand sentinel to yourself.
You're hollow, but they can't enter here.
You're hollow, but they can't enter here.
They'll never know. They'll never know. They'll never know.