A grieving mind flees to a
Small room of peculiar comfort.
Neglected nothingness dances upon the
Vertebrae of my trembling figure-
This is not a waltz for the lighthearted.

Toes furling and unfurling, a delicate process
Like a fern, but those don’t grow
Out of white tile floors.
Ceramic does not befriend the seed
Whose fronds shield my eyes
From the mirror of infinite teeth.

I pray with trembling hands
That the aged wooden door will
Stand strong, shielding me from the
Rasping corpses clawing from the outside-
Their sympathy as dead as their generosity.
I hide from a present nothing.

I fall victim to the wolves
Crawling out of the woodwork.
They startle me, their howling and baying-
I tumble into an acrylic coffin.
The water is shallow, though deep enough to
Leave me submerged, staring up at the
Ceiling of gray, vision obscured, eyes stinging.

Clock strikes midnight, the hour the walls
Confirm inevitable death,
Closing in on their victim, hell-bent on termination.

Glass fangs gnash to the rhythm of an
Intensifying heartbeat, too quick for a
Sound mind to seize. An unescapable
Death sentence to the ones who witness
Their warped reflections.

Soft tissue conceals my thighs, my wrists,
A mummified disappointment to the
Monsters lurking on the staircase,
Far too close for comfort.