By Claudia Wysocky
I have gotten used to invisible hands. They held my gaze, whispered to me. Like a phantom lover, they mesmerized me. It has only been a short time since they touched me, And yet I am certain I can feel them now. I do not want to—I do. Soft steps approach me, whispering as they walk. My fear burns my veins, chills my body. I try to flee, but I can't. Wings like storm clouds surround me—upon me—and I am drowning. —Ah!—What is this pain lurking within? You reach up, press your lips to mine. The pain is gone. I bleed no more. —Only for a slight moment, does the cold embrace Once more, leave me to cry. On the ground, —Alone with sad thoughts I run for cover Before someone sees me —As I see you, Staring from the dark Your cold deathly stare Tangles my thoughts, blinds my eyes, blinds my eyes While I lay here, Slowly digging A grave for my heart… —A perfect grave Among shoes and ties. Because you run. From room 192.