Air Chamber

Mute shadows appear in the white light, faceless at midnight. I take the time to think of every bereavement and loss I've ever faced, all the people I can't forget, in my room alone with my thoughts, making vows as if my name is Nazirite. I made three simple offerings: a lamb as a burnt offering, my virginity as a sin offering, and a bridge as a peace offering. I made this foundation out of hope. I came with unleavened bread, grain offerings and ethanol offerings. I made odes to the mountains of my homeland, said I was going to shave the hair from my head, and be the pile driver, but I never got around to doing it, keeping my word. I live in an air chamber where I procrastinate, where I spend days dreaming of your touch, feeling like I'm never good enough, lying to myself.