February 25, 2010
Dirty switch, I turn it on,
No light.
I shut the door, my shadows fades.
Lock the door, I lock the door.
Bag crashes to the floor, clammy hands.
The light flickers on and
I can see:
It’s musty.
I go to the window, nothing.
A brick wall.

The mirror is dirty but
I can see my face.
Hair a mess, mascara stains down my cheek.
My head hurts, it hurts.
The water is cold on my face and hands,
It’s not so bad.
Sirens, I jump.
They fade into the distance.

I close my eyes,
It stings a little, a lot.
The phone rings, its 6:33:
“Wake-up call”.
I never asked for one.
Where is my bag? It lays on the floor, still.
I grab it and go, never to return again.

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