Slant Meditation in an Unholy Room

The shades are turned so shadows dust their back
They drift and sway like dancers on a rail
One lamp is on; it’s trimmed in gold and black
It’s dim, as if its just about to fail
The room is cold; the night is hot outside
The air is drawn so tight it starts to hum
The pitch is higher than I can abide
My ears adjust by slowly going numb
I close my eyes and draw a deep breath in
And doing so I pull the air too tight
It tears within my chest as it grows thin
And dissipates the way a vision might
As I exhale I don’t repair the void
But nobody will know what I’ve destroyed

Leave a Reply