The Father’s Gun (April)

Pain confides me to bed
To look beyond the angles
Of this cube not a factor
It's partition a cage in my head
I feel I'm afloat in my cell
Held by a force that subsumes
I'm stretched till I break
Is it cuboid or spherical, this hell?
And as if to confound me still more
As to what shape and dimension it is
The partition darkens
Till there was no real horizon at all
I don't know who I am anymore
What will now happen to me?
I cannot now retrace my steps
Backtrack to my blank safety
I found my father's gun...
A kick in my belly moves focus
A message from foetus in morse
But what can I do?
The cube has all I have now but dust
My spirit as dark as this cage
My eyes closed to confirm shape now sphere
I collapse to the floor of this stage
Another vision: A rose ? A cradle ? A coffin ?