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Today I sat at the top of the tallest tower,
Wondering only if my speed could break the glass.
No. It undoubtedly was reinforced.
I was trapped in my cell, a product of divisions beyond my count.
The silence was painful, talking was worse.
Everyone’s a meteorologist, I hate this channel.
The pill I took only muted their minds.
They can’t read this.
They’ll find out.
I can’t rhyme.
The ambiguity of his situation fits marvellously with the narrator's alleged inability to "rhyme" (i.e., I take it to fit with anything or anyone in his life).
I like it! I just had a discussion with a songwriter friend of mine, who has the ability to write amazing, gritty songs and poems that rhyme and not sound trite. I, on, the other hand, sound like a ridiculous, stuffy fool when I try to rhyme.
This poem embodies frustration!
^Rhyme always sounds
dumb when you do it
yourself but - ZOUNDS!
- when all the words fit
or
There was a young man from Japan
Whose limericks did never quite scan
When told this was so
He replied 'Yes I know -
It's just that I always try to fit as many words into the last line as I possibly can...'