the flame of a candle flickers in the dark
her wrists are bleeding from the rope that’s been leaving a mark
she can hear the rain coming down outside
a single tear falls from her eye
the dark cellar walls are closing in
a bead of sweat forms on her skin
locked in this cellar just like a tomb
there is no escape from this lifeless room

for seventeen hours
or one thousand
and twenty minutes


i counted
i made sure


the bottommost right one flickered
unsatisfied with death
fighting with air
stuck in time

the fireman’s lock
aptly named
oh how it teased
a wonder release

the brilliant doors
that showed me myself
yet showed no way
till i ceased to see


for i fail to remember
which I selected
where I wished to be


as i’m frozen in my puddle
and the glaze grows upon my legs
until i fall to the ceiling
and count no more

Too many people,
Too many faces, and not
Enough time to breathe.

all alone in a crowded room
claustrophobia consumes
as i'm uncomfortably surrounded
by strangers
with friendly faces,
ultimately unfamiliar
yet seemingly displaced
from this blur of insanity
they pass as our reality

          where are we?

i am searching for familiarity

                                                  in an unfamiliar place

trying to find

                              a familiar face

Let me just stay here for a while,
a place where I can barely stand,
shoulders gave in long before
one could blame gravity;
the sands of time fall,
grain by grain
a desert remains,
and a dream of oasis;
give me some time
and I'll learn how to breathe.

Let me just stay here for a while,
a room with no windows,
a door that barely opens,
and echoes that sounded like me
for they're white noise now,
I can barely make out,
the sound of my own voice,
give me some time,
while I learn how to speak.

I think I'll stay here for a while,
spellbound by this familiarity,
have I been here before?
I see myself,
gazing distantly, begging apathy
"Levitate!", I hear.
the noise clears, its me
the door opens, Im found
give me some time,
and I'll try to break free.

here comes the pile
walking down the hall
shuffles, pauses
one pushes a button
door opens
eight stepped in
door closes
five pushed buttons
breathe in
count to ten
breathe out
long silence
ding
door opens
step out
sigh.

A furious 'thud-thud, thud-thud' hammers my bones
as I whip shirt sleeves and scarves across my room
and into the small latch-lock box.
The one with the brown leather handle that smells
like things-so-old-they've-turned-to-air.
Long ago I lost the key but the shape of its missingness
is the most familiar thing left in this place.
Latch-key box latch-key house latch-key life.



My footsteps ricochet off the walls to the toc-toc of the witching hour.
I hail a cab and lament the bouncy back seat and pop tunes of the humming driver,
pay with an app so I don’t have to say goodbye.
Not to cab, not to town, not to room.
The high-pitched wails of the most popular human carting system
grates my melancholy between the tracks.
Claustrophobic, crammed into more boxes
I.
Hate!
Boxes.

I…
Can’t remember how I got here from there.
I sit at the airport waiting for a canceled seat so I can get the next flight to:

Anywhere, Extra Cheap.
I look at a clock and I shouldn’t have.

Footsteps haunting, tracks grating, bumping, wailing, mouth humming slow to a blur.
The family next to me carefully removing themselves from the smell of my suitcase.

“Latch-key box latch-key house latch-key life,” I tell them.