The corridor stretches on and on.
Room 243: familiarity…
You’re safe here, another fifty years.
Treaded carpet, sunken mattress-
so-what if your back hurts? And across the hall?
Ugly spider, dead writer-
a bloody, bloody mess.
Maybe putrid on the walls,
baby… toothless in the stall. IT’S THE UNKNOWN
that steals your mind.
IT’S THE FEAR
that binds you.
IT’S THE HIDING
that distorts you.
AND IT’S THE DENIAL
that holds you captive.