TinyKitten100

My eyes open to a dark room, on the floor, with my back pressed up against- something, a bed, probably. Pushing my hand against the ground I manage to lift myself up off of the floor facing the only visible entrance to the room. Semi-visible in the dark; a large barricade of some sort, likely a metal rod, is situated in the catch on the lock-side of the door, making it nearly impossible to get in. And except for the sandwich sitting next to me and the figure sitting in a chair in the corner, I would've been likely to believe it. "You're awake." the figure says. Recognition flares in the back of my mind, but my brain can't seem to make its wa

I often wonder if there is comfort in being enclosed. If entrapment is as serene as they say It is the equivalent to death. In such a case the fluttering of a heartbeat is neither sickness or love; It's the end. It's primal fear boxed under unfit labels. It's sentiment laced with the trickery of time. Because when you lie there in the morning with the curtains drawn close, When you lie there with your heartbeat flush against theirs, Your arms wrapped round and round, It is unclear who is the predator and who is the protector.