In The Same Room She Slept In

The fluorescent lights flicker with few signs of life,

Your thoughts blink faster than the bones in your jaw as it drops in the sight of this scene.

So maybe I’m weak, maybe I’m dreaming;

this pressure anchors it all and I bask in the sound of your solace.

As she continues to drift, the walls bleed black — that of oil and tar,

this prolonged life after death has gone too far.

We’re saying we’re sorry as their prayers are drowned out by her sleeping.

Wallowed in the element of lights, cut short and stopped.

This has happened before (we sink so far away from)

As it will happen again (another night with them and it will be done)