I have not thought in so long
That spiders are walking on me

In a whisper
Or in a scream
Do not wake me
From the dream
I'm in

The bus is leaving
The clouds are breaking up

Sunlight collects beneath
The old armchair
Dust on my skin
I sit as a statue
My ribs are iron
My eyes cast down
In sorrow or shame

The clock strikes
and a crack appears

Vines grow through
The window and they
Spread silently along the floorboards
Each leaf reflecting in the golden sunlight
Until
Around my ankles they tighten
and around the old chair legs

Out of my mouth they grow
Out of my throat and out of my eyes
That are cast down in sorrow or shame