Brittle Prison Poem by jane heart

mired and alone, with grime and
below the wall
a pit congealed
with a passive past.
Tear the crack apart...
better blown than repaired
better dead than just spared
better moaning silently
than waving the red, bright flare.
Her cocoon is her prison.
Her bubble is a glass cell...
Her poverty binds each arm
into salamied knots
of ire and despair.
Rank tears burn in the falanges
of hurt
Beware this acid trap.