IP

This room is a history
unfolding, catch my face
a tapestry of anguish.
The lamps don't work,

if you shine a light-
we will disappear;
ghost calls,
"Are you going to
be alright?"

Nobody knows when the
clock stopped,
we don't look back.
March into the mud
that's what they call it
isn't it? Bravery.

It takes more and more
energy to walk,
bodies cut through sound;
Please don't turn me down
again.
And the other side of
the bed reminds me of you,
so I cannot sleep.