Slight voices
coming from the other room,
scurrying as mice,
stealing nutrients like air,
turning a silent stillness to
a waking violence;
biting my ears its a loop:
week after week
after the weak like me—
drown it out
with liters of water
filled to the ceiling;
killing the mice
squeaking inside of my head
hanging over hell.
Family photos framed with gold,
of which silence has its stranglehold:
irony dances with nuance
like living in a fantasy;
her mother in Alice in Wonderland
wouldn’t shudder
at the haunted picture
nailed to the wall