Dionaea Muscipula

Do they ever think of me,

As I think of them?

Or have they moved on,

As I should as well?

In my little prison cell,

 A world of my own making,

My mechanical mind ticks away,

The turning of a clog.

Do they say the same things about me,

That I say about them?

Do they dwell in the past,

Or is it just me caught in this loop?

Propelled by forward motion,

And eyes so dark they shine,

I wish, I wish, I wish, I wish,

For something, anything to be mine.

I draw my prayers close to me,

Just for something to do,

For something soft to hold,

And to pretend it holds me back.

I know I’m just a gaping mouth,

A hunger that won’t abate.

But somewhere deep,

Somewhere deep inside,

I just long to be like them.

But here I am,

 Alone again,

Waiting, waiting to try again.