Deep under darkness like space
worn out grotesque nominals
my tounge warily embrace
Corridor with red walls
black doors don't open
or swing like stalls
I appear at the other side
without stepping through
my ego's dungeons
where demons and gardens grew
What was behind
a door
I can no longer find
A rain completely sideways
I'm by no choice of my own aware
of the untraveled alleyways
slouched in a wooden chair
A crooked and neglected smile
Brick teeth weeds nest
vile and righteous hile
My mind's narrows blessed
My head set straight
down the snow littered street
I continue my gait
---
Isaiah Mello
Isaiah is from the small town of Nelsonville, Ohio where the days go by slow and the years pass fast. He has been interested in literature most of his life.
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Every day is an adventure; every moment a story.
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