Inside
I'm inside.
And the doors are locked.
The windows sealed and the lights turned off.
No one's home.
It's silent, thick and tangible.
Only broken by the faucets running loud and free.
I'm in a chair.
Centred in the house.
Water rises to my ankles now.
But I can't help but wonder if
I turned the faucet off or not.
All is still.
In my home where I
Can't seem to stop tapping my feet
Sloshing water up and down.
Making it so it never sits.
There's something else.
In this house with me.
Somewhere in the darkness
She swims around me circling
The water that won't settle in.
The darkness is self evident
As though to aid the woman that
Whispers words of sympathy
While closing in proximity.
She's as real as my meandering
As tangible as tinkering.
The water is up to my hips
I don't feel the cold it spreads
Only pressure on my skin
And the dampness that it coerces.
It's darker still.
But louder now.
Her words begin to fill the room
Cramming themselves down my throat
As she wraps around my tightened chest.
I'll die in here.
I think to myself.
Knowing full well of the keys I clutch
And the way I sit unbound and free
Yet cannot seem to push myself
To stand and saunter out of here.
It's my home
Why don't you see.
I'm safe inside, in the roaming dark.
Where nothing can come wandering.
The water's at my chin now
And I can't seem to lift my head
And take that lasting living gasp
Before breathing escapes from me.
She's all around the water now
Infused in every drop that spills.
And even now I keep thinking
Did I turn that faucet off?
Syeda Erum Noor is devoted to learning about the craft of writing and is an avid reader who can talk endlessly about the magic of books. To talk to her about either, reach her at s.erumnoor@gmail.com.
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