“grey walls” by atlas st. cloud
i am laying,
in an empty room.
the temperature is steadily dropping
and frost begins to crystalize on my eyelashes,
playing tricks with my irises.
i am a green eyed boy,
but ice has got me seeing with grey.
grey halls
with grey walls
led me to this hallowed space.
i am laying,
in an empty room.
the ceiling is a motley crew of colors,
galaxies are being spun before me.
two stars collide,
FLASH. BANG. BOOM.
the void opens up.
i stare into the vastness,
and the void whispers back,
“ice cannot kill a phoenix.”
i am laying,
in an empty room.
the stillness of space has no place in this room.
wind begins to howl,
ripping at the walls with nowhere to go.
this wind has teeth and it bites at my skin.
anger manifests monsters,
and this one is trying to
rip, freeze, tear me apart.
i am laying,
in an empty room.
the walls are closing in on me.
i exhale quick and can see my breath in fog.
my skin is beginning to plasticize
and i don’t know if i can move.
there once was a door,
but i can’t move my head to see if it is still there.
i am laying,
in an empty room.
my shoulders start to itch.
warmth floods my systems
and i can feel it in my chest.
my heart begins to beat.
blood flows once more
and something is happening to me.
i am laying,
in an empty room.
my shoulders begin to burn.
a tingle to go along with the itch.
then, suddenly,
i am screaming.
when i wake up,
i am on fire.
i am laying,
in an empty room.
and i sit up.
Originally published in Zilch Qualms, a Phoenix Poetry Slam anthology in 2019.
About the poet atlas st. cloud
atlas st. cloud’s poem grey walls is a haunting meditation on isolation, transformation, and rebirth. The poem places the speaker in an empty room, surrounded by the creeping cold that distorts perception—turning green eyes grey, freezing the breath, and numbing the senses. As the speaker remains motionless, they are enveloped by a void, an expanse of darkness filled with cosmic flashes and whispered reassurances. The line, “ice cannot kill a phoenix”, serves as a powerful moment of foreshadowing, hinting at an inevitable resurgence from the paralysis of despair.
The poem’s structure mirrors a cycle of entrapment and eventual release. The repetition of “I am laying, in an empty room” emphasizes stagnation, reinforcing the feeling of being stuck in an unchanging state. Yet, amid the cold and confinement, fire emerges. The warmth first presents itself as an itch, then an unbearable burn, until finally, the speaker erupts in flames—literally and metaphorically. The transformation is painful but necessary, illustrating a shift from suppression to liberation, from numbness to an awakening.
By the poem’s end, the speaker is no longer trapped in stillness. The final shift—from lying down to sitting up—marks a triumph over stasis, a rebirth from the ashes of struggle. grey walls is a deeply evocative piece that captures the internal battle between despair and resilience, ultimately leaving the reader with the image of survival and renewal.
Discover more about atlas st. cloud and his poetry here on his poet bio page.
