Untitled (concrete walls)

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six
cold
concrete walls

old scars open
they smell so raw

the air is always
damp here

its waters never leave your soul

i close my eyes

i want warmth to cover me

smelling flowers
angeling over rose bushes

the sun caressing my skin
the meadows revitalizing me on my bare two feet

but the cold keeps seeping back

the cold permeates in my flesh
my fingertips open with dry blood anewed

a sewered, syrupy blue consumes the light i can see

-

sometimes

when i scrunch my eyes tighter

i go to a warmth beyond these six sickening walls
and i hear a whisper, “it’s okay, i’m here now…”