Standing in front of the mirror,
Particle board painted metal, smudges on the glass,
I stare into my eyes, listless.
The tree branches leave shadows that dance across the faded wallpaper.
I'm bare and completely alone,
in my thoughts and in this room.
I've lost my voice and my right to belong to this skin.
Instead I gave it to you, flake by flake
when I got up, sat down, lay down, got dressed
like a routine, quickly: machine.
But what I want for me
for us
is to slow down the time that flies past our fingers gripping tight,
desperately holding on to what we gave up when we signed our names--
mine changed, but yours remained the same.

Do you sit where I sit?
All alone, shivering, naked skin, furrowed brow, tearstained cheeks.
Bony arms strangling the breath out of your body
until you fall back on the cold even spaced tiles--
predictable, comforting, like a nest I find
after the rain ravaged my old abode;

I am new, restored,
Subconscious.