Lock this ruined mind,
Behind this windowless sill of mine,
Let no words tell of this non-creation,
This now complete abomination.
Where nothing stabs to wet my face,
Pallor with listlessness and ache,
If only reattachment favored one,
With a ragged, worn-out fate.
Better than this-surely, they roam freely outside,
Are you there, outside my door,
Pacing with the wicked wind?
Turned about to let them pass again,
Unscathed outside my shadowed veil they wait,
Why must you call my name?
When, hidden from your likeness,
I shrink not to hear the shame you call my way.
Crawling ever further to where comfort lingers,
Welcoming but one.
No other here to trephinate,
Behind this windowless sill, ever still I’ll wait.
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