that trap me inside a place I'm content.
My own sanctuary is a jungle
though the vines you can't swing on
and the floor is just as messy but without the mud.
The ground is littered with clothes and trash from last month.
The sky has been replaced by thin fabrics of art,
the walls have been trampled with tacks
hanging up my interests,
for the nooks in this jungle are all full.
The sky does not have a sun,
but a daughter, that it watches over.
I can hear the noise of a bird
though that is what music has become,
a song of serenity,
its own world inside a vast jungle.
The music stands in front of me as a bodyguard,
protecting me from the toxic fumes that could cloud my ears.
This jungle’s walls are built from wood
but not placed as trees.
The trees had to crumple to build this jungle
though no trees could grow here,
for all-natural light has been blocked by the thin fabric
and it has been replaced with neon signs
and LEDs that always stay on the same color.
The plants are all fake except for the cactus,
and even that is dying
I haven't watered it since February
because I watched the last one suffer as it drowned –
no energy to scream
just to rot.
This jungle is my home inside a house.