it (poem)

it

 

one minute it was quiet

for its sanity had been sleeping

in stillness and whispers,

something about

how the cold glass window shattered

into its skull

and the eyes, the eyes, the eyes

don’t look. its way

or any way, for that matter

no matter how much they see

they never look, look, look!

and the glass, the glass, the glass

it’s still there in its head

and it’s not cold anymore

it’s not anything, anything, anything!

anymore. it’s just some

bloody brain cells that can’t feel.

anymore coldness

or warmth, for that matter

and it starts whispering again,

something about

how in the hell it got there

when a minute ago it was asleep

so still and quiet, quiet, quiet

against the cold glass window

its head racing the silence

quiet, quiet, quiet!

until it lost it and its skull

and the glass and the window

and the sleep and the eyes until

it was nothing but quiet.

 

k.w.

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