A wall, a floor and a door

A wall, a floor and a door

A wall, a floor and a door.

That is all that separates us.

Nothing more.

I am there listening for a breath, or a moving chest, some sign of life.

The night hours are like days in their lingering, incessant and insipid. And cruel.

Sometimes daylight’s fingers through the curtains crawl.

But there is no daylight really.

None at all.

A wall, a floor and a door.

That is all that separates us.

Nothing more.