Like Cellophane
I can certainly see itSmell it
I know what it *should* taste like
I know what it *should* feel like
And yet -
I watch myself as the moment passes.
As the feeling *should* come,
and it does indeed go
I watch it all happen
First person
With perfect clarity
As if through __Cellophane__
It clings to me
Skin tight
Close
Yet distant
I both can and cannot breathe;
it inhibits life
I want to feel the highs
And, yes,
even the lows
But I watch myself come and go -
... and nothing happens.
Nothing ever happens!
I would be inclined to feel frustration,
but that, too, is muffled behind
__the Cellophane__
I push against it,
hoping for rupture or rapture -
but it doesn't break
nor do I release myself.
The grip I am in -
it is my own.
This clear palace I call home; sterile.
this - __Cellophane__
Morose
Profane
"Tranquil"
But done in vain
I must be free of that which keeps me;
myself
Wrapped in
__Cellophane__
Poetry by Sarah Parnes
Written on 2026-08-27 at 05:52
Tags Cellophane Break Keep
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