Aghast, the man spoke in quivering tones.
His cadence more revealing than he'd like to believe, he made his way the three feet or so towards the door only to turn.
There she was, staring.
A look he couldn't understand.
The mattress on the floor, dirty sheets -
they continue to stare, uncertain.
On the nightstand lay the black cutting board, glass and all; lines still fresh from the recent cut of the metrocard. The silence still there. It (shame) coated the room thick, reminiscent of the humidity at the end of Florida heat.
Ash & smoke.
Unkempt & lost.
The harder parts were easier to remember.
Had they, he, been here before?
This silent, deafening hell?
It all seemed so familiar, so close, but he had no memory of ever actually leaving the room.
They continue to stare, but as the first tear began to make its way down her cheek, he suddenly felt a slight revulsion & turned to exit the room, open the door.
Anything he felt, to leave this place.
As his hand met the doorknob, there was flash.
Aghast, the man spoke in quivering tones;
his cadence more revealing than he'd like to believe.
He made his way the three feet or so towards the door only to turn -
there she was, staring.
It was then he realized,
this must be hell.
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