[ Just Statistics ]

Her mind is a prison cell –
dark and unfamiliar.
She is trying to find her way
out, but the walls are hard
cold, and damp, always
the same. Sometimes
she finds an open door:
          Light! Clarity!
          She sees herself:
          Silhouetted feet
          and hand, the other
          lifted to her brow,
          shielding her eyes from
          the brightness – so
sudden.
She blinks –
and the door closes.
She loses sight of herself
and returns to the walls
clawing at them, searching
until her hands are cut and
raw. Soon they are
too sore to search, and
death sneaks in another tally
on the wall now damp, and red.









©Shelley Marie 2013