Beckoning

The mind spins, the patience wearing thin.
Not much of a choice to be released.
So much there is to be unleashed.

Disinterest mounts by each ticking of the clock,
With their distinct mark of taunting.
Pumping fear and dread that's all the more haunting.

So much there is to be said.
Yet no one to say it to.
Even words cannot convey fully the meaning of being caged.

Multiple voices speak to a hollow vessel
Hypnosis that is therapeutic for the moment
Which morphs into acute pressure the next.

Seething with unexplainable fury and escalating frustration,
Solace is sought in the unthinkable dimension.
Sanctuary promises it's near and clear.

Pain is mere numbness;
Numbness is the ill which portends blight.
I break loose, losing myself to Hell's
Beckoning.