The room was hot
Her skin was dry
In speckled formations
That resembled alligator skin
Laughter from the room over
And the buzzing of the refrigerator
Were the only
Outside noises
The ones inside her head though,
Those voices never rest
Outside from the window
Cars and people trickle by
As the night does
One cup of water
Filled too many times
The room was hot
But her fingers still cold
Slow breathing
Even slower tears
The couch was black
And its leather resembled
The texture of the skin
On her unevenly shaven legs
The wall was white, and flat, and hard
And she felt her spine against it
Each time she took a breath
She sat motionless
Her body sent tingles and itches
To make sure she knew
She was alive
The stillness of the air haunted her
Just as reality's voice crept in singing,
"You're still alone."