Tower Bound

Night drags in and I kick the walls,
but you do not hear me, I wait
in the silence of the dark, skin
itching creeping on the underside.

I am born and broken every glance,
nothing new I've been here before,
suitors at the door and I am lying
on the floor, unable to scratch
that twitch, the itch.

I exhale in moans not meant to be heard
that echo into the night like phermones
set free, seeking and searching as I
sit in my tower ignoring the knocking,
paying no attention to the bleeding walls,
and my hands hurt, short and cut.

I threw my red vase against the wall,
and it splatterstained that awful red,
staring at me, blaming me in raised voices
and still there is nothing I can do but wait,
as the door breathes and the walls press in,
seeking that seductive voice I thought I hid so well.