The bags are packed, I leave tomorrow morning
He tried to dissuade me, like convincing a melanoma patient
“I know its stage three, but we’ll fix you, Sir”
Part dejected, part hoping
Where’s the room for acceptance?
I say burn the body while it still is pink
Older, staler, it’ll poison you too
Then slowly, mutating into a form
You will give up on dear life and cling on to dead skin
These walls were beginning to choke me
Walls scream out to you sometimes,
In moments of deafening silence
Revealing stories of passion while the sheets persuade you
Into finding new allies to join forces with
And I will recruit thus
As soon as I can believe again
As soon as I can breathe again
This room never had windows, you see.
Mother said, “ Mend it, child. Bend if you must”
Tell her, you, I plead
What’s not broken can’t be mended.