Warden #32

Imagery… How, written or spoken, the words slated to paint my thoughts
draw dull and lifeless across the page.

As though my mind a prison, barring all the colors and life inside.

And I the warden of this cell, the only witness to the inmates on my watch.
Each night, they dance and sing, unaware of the watching eyes…

The mute warden of my soul.

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