It’s cold and it’s dark
it’s afraid and lonely
it’s tired and it’s necessary
it’s the conflict between the captive, the captor
the prison and the prisoner
it’s the thin line between
the master and the slave
master who is enslaved to his slave
slave who is master of his master
it’s the space between the links of chain
the space between
the eyelashes of an innocent.
I sat in the corner of the room
as far as I could get from the door
the window above it.
I held my knees to my chest and shivered from the cold.
the fan in the window threw odd shadows
across the gray walls and floor,
the fan blades fragmenting the light as they rotated
and the rhythm of it hypnotized me.
I stared angrily at the cold window
as the daylight stared back ,taunting me.
All I’m afraid of is that door.
I’m afraid of it opening and what might come through.
But why think of that now?
The door hasn’t opened in days, and the last time it did,
all I saw was a strange face, and then it closed again.
That’s all doors do in the end
open and close, nothing remarkable.
They aren’t sophisticated like other things
like eyes that see, like hearts that beat.
I wonder how long I’ve been here
watching those spinning blades?
Maybe I should get up and walk out
stand up and move myself right through that door
that gray barrier.
It is the fear
It is the hypothetical
It is the denial
It is the numbness
It is the indecision.