The past, an airless room,
no windows. I go in.
Will I ever get out? Four walls,
each made of memories. I pound
on a vanishing door. Birds
peck their way in,
cover me. Dark wings,
indelible ink
for my obituary.
The past, an airless room,
no windows. I go in.
Will I ever get out? Four walls,
each made of memories. I pound
on a vanishing door. Birds
peck their way in,
cover me. Dark wings,
indelible ink
for my obituary.