Victoria Martin


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Everyone has a story to tell

​The 4 and 1 White Walls

August 21, 2019



The walls aid in my selfish suffocation, it’s been three days since the accident and they have now become my constant companion. Pain, doors, and medication has isolated me from that world, barring me even further from speech and self. So I watch the world in my window, and it passes slowly, pane by unending pain. Perched above in patient strife I wonder my preposterous ponderings staying still, and waiting… 
Sentient not quite yet. I’m struck deeper with waiting for a means to end this. The time passes and with it the opportunity to finish. Even if I wait I still give my assistance to my cause, for the only way I live is to die a little each day. So I count up those precious days, hours and moments. Filling them up with words trapped in unconsciousness and get caught in my throat. Instead, they find their way into pens and spill scratches of ink onto pages..
Still, those wonderings of how to speed up the process of living remain and those thoughts keep coming closer to action, turning into accidents of rage or livid passions of loathing. Even still the remaining four white walls of skull impede these thoughts from speech, but once they are uttered the state of sanity is breached.
I would love some feedback on this piece. 

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