In cocoon
this world's grown small
and yet
the hall of terror fits
as tune plays ways that won't
I feel the don't again
The reel of pain unwinding
finding what was trashed
and packed so neatly into hull
Dull, the pain of knife that jabs
until it stabs its way
and cuts this prey
all in what end has may
or is it might that lost this night
all because I can not find
the end of bind that holds
the one that molds this shell
this tiny, tiny well
not wet as of this yet
As it holds this tune
this resonating croon
All in the crowd of this cocoon
Author notes
The picture that the poem is about
http://www.renderosity.com/mod/gallery/index.php?image_id=1527160
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