I
My room is empty,
dark,
and
vacuous.
Vacuous.
Sometimes I swear
I
can hear the echoes
of my
own breathing,
and
tic-tocs emanating
from my digital clock.
And I swear, sometimes
I can
hear,
in the stuffy air,
the sounds of molecules
bumping,
here and there,
one against the other,
And all against the walls
of the room.
And everywhere I can hear
noise,
and static,
and tumult,
tumult,
reverberating
through the gloom.
And the voices
and the
whispers,
of earlier
residents,
still hang in the
air,
I swear,
I swear...
And an impending sense
of
doom.
II
My room is a coffin.
My room is a grave.
In it I lie
peacefully,
but
never at peace.
There are too many shadows
here,
too
many memories,
and tears
that I have released,
for
peace to settle in,
for me
to be
at
peace.