it’s like being in a box
sealed on the outside.
but more than a box.
I carved infinity into the walls
so I can stay here
I call it a “passive prison.”
and do happy cartwheels—
the room is only a three by eight.
it’s safety in loneliness
but it’s still a box.
more than a box.
it’s a quiet memory on repeat—
loud.
it’s something that can be spoken to
alone.
and it understands.
but can it feel?
like an object that only exists in thought—
no that’s not right.
well sure it is.
but it’s exclusive to me.
like a keepsake.
no.
like melatonin.
true I am blind.
monochrome
checkered floors.
a game.
taking a loss
like a virus
and its host
that kills
organisms.
function.
stuck on the absence of—