Delta 22

Darkest night in cold dank pit,
Concrete walls so dimly lit,
With lights that flicker withe to black,
Heart and soul these walls lack,

Walls are tinted with sterile white paint,
that masks a thousand types of taint,
That fester in the concrete tomb,
The walls and floors become their womb

With rolled up carpet against the wall,
Rolled and useless so not to fall,
Steel and vents make dark decore,
Reflecting hate from concrete floor,

Rotten food upon the shelf,
Grows darker than what's in myself,
In cold dank room the mold will grow,
But outside it's jar it shall never know.

Outside the room lies clouds of smoke,
Black thick poison makes all life choke,
And quickly makes the living die,
None can pass through, though many try.

I sit alone, just me and mold,
In concrete prison dank and cold,
White walls cling to dust and lint,
How they deserve a different tint,

But amongst rusty tools no paint is seen,
Still paint unseen will flow sanguine,
And rusty tools catalyze,
the paint that in my body lies

And as the paint runs through the room,
I find peace in concrete tomb