The template had the fault,
I was buried alive.
Brick by brick
they erected the cell around me.
I could see only the reflection of a moon at night
in my glass of water.
During the day
sun peeped through the cracks,
was hurting and very disturbing,
forming a skull and crossed bones on the walls.
I watched a piece of sky as a hub of pallisades.
I planted a word in that hole.
After one seed,
there were many echoes.
Starting in the distant hills.
I was rising in red fog.
