“What am I doing here?” You say.
You find yourself in the back bedroom,
and can’t remember why.
If only passing through were so easy:
some doorways recede even as you approach;
some rooms drag along with you:
the blood, the screams, the disbelief
are invisible engines
unspeakable hammers that nail us in.
“What am I doing here?” You say.
You find yourself in the black blood room
and must remember why.
Related posts:
- ugly the place smells like medicine like strong solvents viricides the...
- There’s nothing like a bottle of Madeira in our house on campus Mark was the sophisticated college...
- slush Waterlogged snow is just too much: in its gray-tinted form...
- Next Blog I have been trying the “Next Blog” link in the...
- seasonal In late December when the days are dark and the...
Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.
