My room is an abyss
windows blackened
with construction paper.

I lie alone, awaiting
enlightenment, incense
burning sickly sweet.

Apparitions of people
appear, examine me
with physician eyes,
determine the dimensions
of my dementia.

I do not see them.
Instead, they chatter
while they work
their of voices
blistering my brain.

The process is slow,
but eventually I will
tear the covering
from my windows,
flood the room with light,
and become invisible.

This content is for Friends of Burningword 3-Day Pass, Friends of Burningword 3-Month Subscription, Friends of Burningword Annual Subscription and Basic Member members.
Log In Register
%d bloggers like this: