Site icon Angie's Diary

Inside This Room

inside this room
A scattering of light

crosses my face – in
lines of darkness as
if you locked me here
for good – I touch
cold iron – rusted –
my palm feels its’ crust

No authority is heard
nor footsteps near –
where light crosses
for a moment it blinds
me from the strongest
point of light

A spatter as if a bird’s
wings swiped across
a window I cannot see,
birds –  birds sleep at night?
Is it night?

My body follows crust
on my palms until it hits a
cold floor – cement –
uneven to the touch
my clothing disheveled,
rumpled – I am not
haphazardly placed
together in this light

Am I owned by just being?
Am I a mistress?
Am I a resident for life?

I hear weaponry –
exploding in my head
In my head – I cover my
head with my arms and
hear, no more.

Will I recall this place

Exit mobile version