where's my creativity?

i feel empty as a shucked corn husk, 

the layers of my brain peeling off like an onion. 

i have tired myself out with school work and life. 

and stress have overtaken me to its palace

hidden away in a dark forest or palace or wherever my mind conjures and feels at the moment, 

where i am locked inside a cell

made out of my own problems and worries and thoughts

and the jailer is across from me, 

its reflexive surface and image i can see. 

the jailer is spinning idly on the chair, 

nails lightly scratching parts of her body, 

leaving behind quickly fading white lines and scribbles.

as a distraction from the boredom of watching over me

or i watching the jailer. 

and just waiting for the cell to just up and disappear, 

instead of trying to steal the key from the jailer. 

i have to wait. 

for a chance. 

when the jailer is asleep or occupied or not doing strenous tasks, 

i have a chance to get a key. 

i reach out my hands 

and bump into a hard surface, 

my fingers leaving a nasty oil print on the mirror. 

the mirror gapes open for my hand and i grasp at something. 

nothing. 

the mirror shatters and i can't the jailer anymore. 

i can't see myself anymore. 

blood is seeping out from a glass shard stuck in my hand, 

and i look around the cell for something that can help

when i see the key. 

turns out it was in the corner, 

you just got to keep looking to find it. 

i twist the key into the lock 

and i am free.

 the cell is still there, 

but i am no longer trapped.