Black Curtains

Soala Idasetima

I feel like a felon — because of my skin. It

Lacks a lot of melanin and I’m dwelling within a

Prison — in a white room with black curtains.

Only if I was near the station…

If the sun rays kissed me, I’d burn in

Hell like Roman history when the pagans fell.

Heaven is out there, hidden by these curtains.

Regardless, I’ll spend eternity in purgatory…

Pictures of glaciers, pictures of cacti.

Pictures of waterfalls, picture of gas pipes

Fill the books that I read for pleasure

But that pleasure soon becomes grieving…

The color of my pupils matches the veins

Contained in the sclera — when I look in the mirror.

I reside in developed photos, taken with Kodaks,

Which have been recycled with Prozac.