Dittophobia

This talks about the effect confinement have on our lives, and the repetition that it leads to.

Every morn he wakes up filled with apathy,

for he can predict the day with utmost certainty.

The day begins with the most exciting thing -

Breakfast dumped into the bowl that dings.

Finishing his breakfast is no easy feat,

knowing that later there is no one to meet.

He looks around for a varied activity to find,

hoping for something to break the daily grind.

Exiting out is impossible, it’s not just hard,

the doors are closed and the windows are barred.

With few options available, he picks up a pen,

if his mind is able, then he has a poem to pen.

Time has passed, he’s none the wiser,

his page still blank, like a hoarding miser.

Unsurprisingly, his mind has drawn a thorough blank,

enclosed like this, it’s grown mouldy and dark.

He gives it another go, boy! He’s relentless,

anyone else here would have found it endless.

An hour goes by, he finally makes a decision,

to write a poem, he isn’t in any desired condition.

His eyes are closed, he must be deep in thought,

Imagining the outer world he has dearly sought.

His head falls forward, oh no! He has fallen asleep,

he catches himself, awake now, he curses “bleep”.

There is no more time to brood, as time passes by,

his endearing attempts proved futile, he can only cry.

He’s tried everything, his face reflects worry

Could tomorrow bring something other than misery?

Finally, comes the call of darkness, for it is night,

Snuffing out what remains of the little light.