• In the corner of the living room was an album of unbearable photos,
    Full of happy faces and crying eyes,
    Strained smiles and forced interactions.
    Their eyes are tinted glass, barely obscuring hidden emotions
    Tortured souls, afraid of their shadow,
    Collect, hiding together within a living façade, a breathing castle,
    Of ignorant mortar binding apprehensive bricks,
    Until they snap, for nothing is infinite.
    When they cave, crumble, collapse,
    Only the knights can end the war, as other souls stare fearfully.
    I am stressed; I can feel pressure on the ballista
    It’s too much, the King returns, late, stumbling, heavy with plague
    I watched that night, terrified, shaking behind the banister,
    As the souls reached into the night, incensed,
    And broke from those pages.