"Inescapable", a poem
Inescapable
It's a clock, as it runs its finger down each shivering spine of all the sisters around this ring of wilted daisies. It gets closer to your turn. It crashes through them one after the other; its hand tainting, smearing, staining. It whispers with its cold breath, "You are mine now." They dare not move so as not to be noticed, but we can't stop time.
It's a carousel, round and round until it's your turn, and then hers, and hers, and hers and- You hold your breath and clench your fists; your feet don’t yet touch the ground. Still, everyone is tall enough to ride this carousel, and your tears will dry up in the cold night air. It comes around and around until it's your turn again. You see them get on and off, up and down, round and round- it's coming for you now.
It's a running faucet. Your fingers prune as you try to close it. You try to stop the water from spilling over the tub. You don't want the water stains on your floor; those don't come off easy. But the water overflows with you inside, splashing everywhere. You bruise your knuckles trying to force the faucet to turn. You don't drown, but you wish you could.
It's a game of tag, but you don't know you're playing until you feel a hand bruise your arm- fingers squeezed into your skin, marking you in a way that will never truly heal. You should've picked hide-and-seek, but then again, you never had a choice, like the overflowing of the tub, like the ride on the carousel, like the ticking of the clock. You didn't know you were supposed to run until you'd already been caught.