PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I feel like being a prisoner,

Inside my own house here,

He doesn’t give me a handful of freedom,

All he gifts me with is boredom and boredom.

If I call anyone over the phone,

He appears like a monster making me mourn,

For my effort to contact with others,

Even the windows are like the jail’s bars.

I can’t cook properly, he says,

I can’t behave, he says,

I’m not allowed to go for a walk outside,

Since the virus called ‘doubt’ is eating his mind.

He has made me bleed repeatedly,

Since I tried to escape desperately,

Grabbed me like an animal,

Throwing me back into his torture cell!      

Oh God! What can I do?

I beg of You,

Please save me from this medieval Satan,

Open up a way for me to fly, to run.