Nothing In
Feb 7 2009


Looking from the inside,
the world seems flat
some light is lost
all sound
muffled.

Clear glass
tinkles like wind-chimes
squeaks when wet
crashes to the floor
and shatters.

And when it’s dark outside
you see yourself, looking back,
trapped
in this house of mirrors,
for all the world to see.

I have lived so long
my face
pressed-up against it,
the fog of my breath
all the evidence I’ve left
behind.

The coolness is a relief
against my cheek
as I lean hard into it,
surprised at its strength.
My skin is hot and flushed
smudging the cool clear reflection.
My eyes are shut,
letting nothing out
nothing in.
And all I hear
is the dull rhythmic thud
of a fist.