The chair is always empty.
I imagine faceless men there,
Watching the muscles in my
Face shift like tectonic plates.
I dream up their arms big and
Strong like oceans that wash
Against my continents.
These men have no shadows,
Just bodies. They speak in
death grips, keep me sane.
Seconds spill into the night,
And I am still alone. I stand
To leave and they remain
To haunt me when I wake.