In the upper room
I look up and through the skylight.
I am a fish in a bowl without water.
The world is blue.
The tree over the rooftop is green,
Its leaves are notes upon growing staves.
They wave at each other.
They are unstoppable.
I hear the wind through the branches,
And the occasional sound of birds.
It all finds its way through the gaps.
Downstairs the rumble of a washing machine
And the gurgle of pipes disturbs my
I cannot help but let the thought creep in =
Real life is out there.
I am in here, a body upon a carpet.
The threads become barer each day.
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