Sienna Bentley

Set fire to your bridges with me

cowering in a room is a prison of the mind

with no windows or exit strategy

three doors with locks as if it’s a choice

lacking clean air and natural light

a broken chair to rest your back bent from

crime and submission the difference is

the punishment deafening silence

burned to the back of the brain

concrete walls dirty

with blood-spattered innocence

and decaying due diligence

repeated thoughts go mouldy

as we grow old together in the pen

a mouth full of sand to choke on next

the mortality of day is overwhelmed by

false reassurance in a claustrophobic cell

fists too weak to want better for yourself

accepting your fate means allowing to be

trapped in a box despite no intent

stuck reciting the consequences of zero consent.