The Quiet Room

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The Quiet Room

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By a thread, I hang, as the knell tolls.

Moribund and cacophonous,

Surrounded by angels of death, I am.

They chortle and laugh at me, as

The tragic side show carries on.

I am amongst the persecuted,

Caught in a sinister grasp-

With the clapping of thunder,

My flailing limbs, caught in a vice.

Crouched in a corner, I have lost my battle with life.

My hair, frazzled, as that of a madman.

Blackened ice paves the floors through the doors of death.

Kicking and screaming, I find myself surrounded by

Yellowed walls, caught in a cyclone as

Veracity slips through my open palms.

None but a glimmer of light,

Hope without a prayer has been snuffed out as

I am a prisoner trapped within this iron vault.

The foul stench of urine permeates as the

Walls spin in an emotional typhoon.

Voices are loudening,

Blood-curdling, then muffled,

My chapped lips crack as I vociferate madness,

Bellowing and shouting

I cower in a corner then thrash about.

The knell continues to toll as thunder keeps clapping.

Lightening ignites my sordid spirit.

I am a hellion sailing the rapid river towards bedlam.

My fists pound upon the paint-stained concrete,

Black as fear, blood gushes from the ceiling.

Leaded paint chips cascade downward,

Hitting the ground in staccato rhythm.

The knell tolls “Abide with me” as

I lie outstretched upon the glacier-cold floor.

As I gasp for a breath of air

I count backwards.

A ghost-like silence has settled as dry snow would,

Blanketing the room-

I close my eyes and a wooden smile

Creeps up upon my face and as I listen with caution,

The people in my head begin to converse with me once more…

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Claudia Krizay