The Break Out

The Break Out

Red face, Wide Eyed, sweat running down your face

You sit with wide eyed terror

Sat on your throne that’s usually your place of contemplation

Now it’s turned into your Torturous place of constipation

You are as one with the escapee

Your mind saying, willing yes time to be free.

But you have a bastard of a prison guard

Your sphincter of solitary confinement just won’t let go

Like an oversized Birth, your escapee stretched you

Involuntary sounds of a lunatic come from your mouth

Finally it gives in to the struggle

your fellowship of the ring as raw

As raw, as a blast from ball on winters morning

Out of repulsive curiosity you look to see what’s escaped

It reminds you of a large Havana Cigar

It almost looks as relieved as you

Alcatraz has Nothing on this Break out

©Martin Hickman, February 2014