Sentenced

This room feigns silence

while all around, clouds of cacophony

reflection gather;

wide roads jammed with pregnant

balloons of possibility,

clown heads making a mockery

of joyous cataloged events

They make chase around the carousel in my head

stealing air with long, sharpened needles

Those that make for the best portraits

waiting under the bed with ghoulish indifference

ready to pop out in nightmares and

then seep through the cracks in the floor, to wait

Envy is such a clever trickster

He knows how to hide in mirrors

holding up paper dolls that don't stick

but sway back and forth in a bitter

caricature of waltz

But regret runs the table, takes the night,

with talons that lie invisibly in pillowcases

and burn themselves under unsuspecting eyelids

This room pretends a place of rest,

the clock, a fatal companion

marking each hour I pay

to make it to the dawn