- The Glass Prison-

I can’t stop shaking.
I don’t know what I did.
I don’t—
I swear I didn’t mean for anything
to go wrong.

But everything’s wrong.

Four walls, four mouths,
screaming my secrets back at me.
My regrets echo,
twisting like nails
dragging across my spine.

But they never speak of what I did.
They never name the sin.
They just punish.

Over
and over
and over.

I crawl to the center of the floor,
like a dog that knows not to beg.
My knees bleed—fibers bite deeper
every time I try to rise.

My hands—God—my hands
are full of dead things.
Dreams.
People.
Pieces of myself.

My face
buried in this grave
like it belongs here.
Like I always have.

These walls are glass,
and I see everything—
everything—
except a way out.

Every time I think I’m close—
I swear I can taste escape—
the world tilts,
my own reflection smirks,
and it begins again.

A film that won’t stop playing,
a broken reel—
I’m the star, the shame, the accident
they replay for sport.

I scream into the corners.
I beg the cracks.
I press my forehead to the cold
and whisper,
"Tell me. Please. Tell me why."

Nothing answers.

They just watch.

I’ve become the ghost
haunting her own body.

Kneel.
Bow.
Don’t look up.
Don’t speak.
Say yes, even when your soul rots.
Choke on iron.
Pretend it's sweet.
Breathe shallow.
Move light.
Don’t let them hear how close you are to shattering.

This prison trains you in survival.
It teaches obedience.
It displays you—
raw, broken, bowed—
and still hides the origin.
Never tells you why.

Is anyone out there?
Anyone?

Am I the only one left
asking questions that burn holes in my throat?

I am the soldier no one sends for.
The willow that bends until she snaps
and no one notices.
The mother of everything but herself.

I take the pain
so they won’t have to.

I swallow fire
so they can sing.

And still—

they forget me.

Every wound is etched in these walls.
Painted in red
so bright
no one sees it.

Maybe it’s true.
Maybe I’m the curse.
The rot.
The shadow that kills what it touches.

I try. I swear I try.
To hold on. To be good.
To deserve something more than this.

But I’m always
the expendable.
The out.
The shield that breaks.
The corpse that buys time.

And when it ends,
when it finally ends—
they’ll walk away clean.
Safe.
Untouched.

And I’ll still be here.

Watching.

Waiting.

Bleeding in glass.

Forgotten.

- Written by Sye Mullins -