Walls

Asylum-blanched paint buckle at their corners,        
crinkling into many suppressed frown lines with a groan.        
They clamp the four encased walls in protective layers,        
walls that used to be able to talk        
are gratefully silent.        
       
A seat sits spine-straight in the ribs of the room,        
an occupant slumping on the worn veteran timber.        
Brutal cheek bones high and severe        
with deceitfully soft lullaby eyes,      
lure in curiosity.        
       
Time seems to have paused        
for dramatic effect.        
       
He stands and the walls        
fall one by one.