I sit in a tiny box room.
The walls are brown paper, folding with each strong breeze from outside, threatening to collapse on top of me.
I'm not afraid, it does this every day.
I sliced small squares through the thin fabric of my claustrophobic container, air seeping in and out.
I can never leave. There is a war happening.
A familiar man and woman firing bombs at each other, continuing to not be concerned with the damage they cause to the cities in between.
Deafening thunder echoes as another door slams shut- another sleepless night passed.
It had always confused me how lightening and thunder are always present, but there are no raindrops to soothe their flaming tongues...
Our melting ears...
©poetic_peh
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