Carefully, tediously, stumbling through the black space illuminated by darkness. Knowing every single motion, every twitch of my hand, as blindly, I finger the smooth plaster, oh! most intimate drywall; knowing every painted pasture, meeting every intricacy of that wall.
And desperately I cry for a map, simply searching for a light switch with bone-bare fingers, tirelessly scraping at the container, as if to ask, Hello? Is there anyone there?
Sadly, slowly, I await the voice of someone -- you, a stranger, anyone -- only to be disappointed by the melancholy reply of a lonesome echo wandering through the dark; not even the satisfaction of a silhouette
on its haunches in the black, hovering over nothing. Then there is plastic --
I am alone, amidst the darkness of a lamp.
ED
No comments:
Post a Comment