How, like a secret, you crept into every corner, defacing my yoked harlequin,
and with a hollow chest, you embalmed my every hope, like the windows you closed,
then blamed me for the lack of
sunlight
This once was a soliloquy made into the formlessness we carried into the garden, where we
formed a brilliant lie to ourselves
that this was the life we would have
if we could choose
I felt peace when you left the room with cages, and I slept for the first time in eight months sitting up straight on a chair next to the only exit in the broken house,
And alas, lonely,
I sharpened my fingers on your broken promise, and I carved space
for
the
light