you’ve been in this room before.
i know you sat and counted hours
of eternal, overwhelming regret,
and walls by which you were covered—
in fear
of leaving this room,
whose windowpane doesn’t function;
even the window itself
was pierced by a bullet—
wretched, as your spirit
for willingly withholding the power
to open the door,
which you don’t even need to devour
with the glance of perpetual pain,
and the heart you cannot admire.