top of page

black hole




the vents in my room

have never worked a day in their life

when it’s cold they make it colder,

and when it’s hot they break down


i have yet to fix the clocks 

that run backward and melt in the rain

but lately it seems whatever i touch

doesn’t survive the black hole in my room.


everyday i write then curse my hands,

and soon a thick dust settles on my notebook,

i sit in content silence 

collecting the grime as a prize.


and so my room has fallen

into disarray around me

i stand still in the middle of it all,

maybe i am the reason


i try so hard to convince myself

that it is all for a reason

but my eyes, a blight to my body,

know i do not deserve anything but this torture.


this black hole.



Editors: Blenda Y., Uzayer M., Alisha B.

Image Source: Evan Lee, Unsplash

Comments


bottom of page