Is this a form? Is it my own form? Who knows? Feel free to comment! On the We Write Poetry prompt for Boxes.
Counting ceiling tiles, blurred
She loses track
Was that a scream she heard
falling through a crack
Her words not quite right, slurred
The drugs’ve made her whack
Straps on her wrists, tethered
Detox. The Rack.
(c) 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore, Sharp Little Pencil