The Bedroom, 2022

 

i couldnt hang the photos right. all
skewed and 
sour tasting
blue yellow candies on tongues
coated with filth from
licking the floorboards.
the walls bend in to me
wood warped and splintered
but holding gently.
softer than sheets
softer than window sill
softer than light that wakes me
too early.
i sit for hours or
weeks in fits of
sleep but no dreaming just
terrors that blend together
the green yellow blue of mourning.
light in my heart in my ears on my hands
i am not holy they told me
i am not holy
so i must sit at the window and
pray. pray for the door to unlock
pray for the red bed to stop bleeding
pray that the walls bend back up
quit holding me so tightly
and keep heaven from swallowing me.