No One Am I

there is silence and there is stillness
old stale breathed air circulating
the odd ticking once in a while
breaking the suspended noiselessness

crawly skins on closed spaces
blunt fingernails scratches lazily
the mere movement showing life
coupled with eyes like dusty walls

within the mind a round space
paced round and round, again and again
question marks on its walls
bleeding to the floor unheeded

I watch from within bars
inside and outside looking out
listening to the ticking clock
sounds like disapproving clucks

of an elderly grandfather.