I'm insane, you say?
Is it not possible that it is you
To whom you are speaking of?
Do you not see?
Hear how calm
My voice is
And its consistent tone.
My hands are steady, placed
Perfectly two inches away from the table's
Edge. Do my eyes shake
Spastically in my sockets? No,
They are still as I stare
At you, without a blink,
To show how serious I really am.
It is you whose voice
Goes up in a shriek
And down in a whimper.
It is you whose hands tremor.
Are you not
Looking all around?
I'm insane, you say? If I am,
Then what does that make you?
About the Creator
Emily Ericson
I'm an aspiring writer with many stories and opinions to give along with much knowledge to share.
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Just Sixty Seconds
Oliver sat at a cold, grey steel-covered table. He knew he was next. The longer he sat here, the more confident he knew he wouldn’t make it. His hands were tied to the chair he was sitting on, pushed up against the steel table. A small camera in the corner of the ceiling with a tiny red flashing light was the only thing he was focused on. He felt sick to the stomach. He knew he didn’t have long.
By Joshua Maggs4 days ago in Fiction
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