I steal glances at the man
with the stubble sitting
across me. He\'s studying me carefully.
It has been almost an hour since
he killed her in my mind; and now,
as if regretting his action, fearful
of my reaction, he waits.
I am praying for a thousand things:
for him to leave being the first.
And when he finally does,
I feel the weights shift.
I close the door behind his back.
I am a spectator, looking
at myself from the ceiling,
from a devil\'s view. My heart is a spring
bursting into rivulets and lakes;
my body, a filled vessel, tipped over
so its contents now flow out
until the springs dry up
and it has nothing more to hold.