Poem: The walls are closing in

A girlfriend began giving me large framed photos of herself to adorn my room. I placed them in drawers and was compelled to restore them to a conspicuous location by my Mother. A few female friends also had me place my pictures with female friends in drawers. This poem was an exaggeration of how I felt -

The walls are closing in;
the ceilings are starting to spin.
She is getting more comfortable
and I am slowly suffocating.
She's cooking, she's cleaning,
and she's leaving her stuff in each room.
She's replacing or hiding my things bit by bit;
I don't even recognize the broom!
I am slowly losing a part of me to this "W", "E".
She's so happy doing things together and I feel so guilty.
I thought we were taking it slow, having a ball.
Not speeding down the highway,
planting pictures of two on each table, each wall.
I can't seem to find my own space
in my own place.
I can't sleep right;
I've got pimples popping all over my face.
Foreign female items now abound in my drawer
where my underwear resides.
The day I heard, "We are not here"
on the answering machine a part of me died!
The walls are closing in;
I'm collapsing from each congenial blow.
Do I allow this relationship to grow,
or do I tell her that she has to go.

Sean Ruize Munnings
The Raga~Lover

Copyright © 2006 Sean R. Munnings, all rights reserved.