I know where to find you.
Your psychedelic maze of thoughts hide underneath that broken down bed of yours. Above, the pillow and sheets rigorously distressed terrorize you each night. You curse that place, you dread it. I can hear them calling you back, trying to lure you out of that tight space with which you cannot part.
Little do they know, you’re unable to move: you’re paralyzed. You stare at the cracked wood centimetres from your eyes. Never blinking, your longest eyelash is oh-so close to the wood, as if a mocking metaphor for your inability to grab a hold of time.
A waste, I bluttered out.
There was nothing that could be gone: she was gone, in every sense of the word.