All the times I pressed my face up against the glass...
seeing these captions through the windows.
Vague, meaningless sentences stacked in horizontal rows.
If I had put them all together, it might have made a better
introduction to strike attention.
None of this seems the slightest bit pleasing.
It wasn't always this way, yet I'm balancing on gravity.
So I stare through the porthole.
What is there to see?
Pessimistic frowns, cluttered heads, a lost soul carrying out chores.
The walls contain the entire world.
Everything that was my favorite space,
and the excruciating ways I had wasted my time.
Here I pace and doddle.
There, past that threshold:
It was frequently denied.
Motivation through a tall window.
My reflection reminds that there isn't any welcome.
The forceful grip pushes my feet.
I don't know if I can avoid the center of the universe
by holding onto a doorway,
but I am steadily growing a tolerance against the physics of nature.
I will not enter, just look right through.
Maybe I can smudge the cleanliness with a message:
I was here.
My restrictions are just a tap on the windowpane,
and having anyone notice my visit is few and far between.
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