The room is a womb.
It is quiet. It is dim. It is safe here.
How could anyone want to leave—
me alone please, I need space,” I want say to my friends.

My thoughts are lethargic, “thud”, and—
scattered laundry all over the room, I cannot pick up—
the pieces of my great ineptitude have dominated my world.
Kristina wants to eat at La Tienda and I am running out of—
time is frozen. Each explosive tick of the clock resonates,
but time is not moving. Did you know,
a person running actually ages a bit faster than one—
lying down, not sleeping, and not eating ; food tastes like paper.
Lumbago radiates from the left but sleeping will help the pain.
The throbbing ebony of my eyelids is lovely. I’m staying here—

“Forever. I’ll love you forever, even if I come back as a zombie.”
I want to feel the warm velvet lining of that skull, to know fully
that I am adored despite my incredulity.
But I can’t leave, the room is a tomb: quiet, dim, safe.
It’s quite alright; I will feel better tomorrow.