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Trapped

Trapped 

I am ensnared in a realm I cannot flee,
where the earth spins in relentless refrain,
each dawn a shadowed echo of the last—
a hollowed husk of the life I once knew,
stripped bare of even my ex’s familiar sting.

No circles of kinship bind me here,
no voices rise to cradle my weary soul.
Two friends, steadfast yet frail,
pour love into this void,
but their warmth cannot shatter
the walls that close in, unyielding,
entombing me in a shrinking cosmos.

No queer laughter dances through these streets,
only the sharp crack of Trump flags,
whipping in a wind that carries no hope.
No sacred havens offer refuge,
only a suffocating silence,
a town that denies the truth of my being,
its borders a blade against my spirit.

The friendships I grasp fray like worn thread,
straining beneath the weight of this mute despair.
Even love, once a beacon, falters here,
starved of breath, unraveling at its seams,
while loneliness surges, a ravenous tide,
filling the cracks with its cold, gray flood.

I drink to still the trembling in my bones,
but chaos begets chaos,
anxiety coiling in relentless spirals,
a storm that fractures me further,
splintering my soul into jagged shards.

No center holds in this forsaken place.
I reach for balance, for a spark of grace,
but Pocatello binds me, unyielding—
a windowless crypt, an airless cage,
its iron grip choking the light from my days.

To linger here is to embrace a slow death,
a life flattened to ash by rote repetition,
each breath a shallow theft from fading hope.

In this barren land, beauty finds no foothold,
its wings clipped, its colors bled dry.
Yet still, I dream of breaking free,
of shattering this cage, of soaring beyond
this desolate plain where my spirit is chained.

For I am more than this town’s cruel design—
I am a spark, a flame, a defiant cry,
yearning for a world where my soul can breathe.

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