I am situated in the cabinet of pain,
folded haphazardly like a fitted sheet
or a crumpled ball of paper.
My elbow presses against the hard wood.
My neck is bent unsustainably.
I can hear noises from the outside,
muffled but alluring. I was told
there was a logical way out of this situation,
that I just had to figure it out,
but I am beginning to believe
that was a lie. I have no way
of measuring the passage of time,
but it stretches out, like an intestine
pulled from an incision in the torso.
It is dark and I am constrained.
I cannot assess my wounds
but they are certainly present.
I feel wetness dripping from my corners.
My mouth is gagged. My shouts are muffled.
All I can do is keep breathing.
I keep breathing.
I keep breathing.
I keep breathing.
