Listen Hard

I'm planning
an escape route
out of this room
where your voice echoes
your words still spinning round on
the turntable of clichés
you needed to make yourself feel
honest.....real

the thing about figures
of speech is they're just shadows
in the night
flick the switch
and they scuttle off
into corners.....cracks
in the molding
like roaches
they'll outlive us all

these walls have been scrubbed down
painted Fresh Air White
injected with newness and still
they are resonant
a steel cage full
of old sentiments
rattling relentlessly
at the bars

I'm a prisoner
in here
out of self-righteousness
babbling Freudian feminist existentialist
theories.....apologies
guards against your words
that only ache
themselves inward

but leaving is simply
not an option
because I'm still waiting
I still half fear.....half hope
you're listening hard
your ear pressed to the door