Trapped

I'm thinking, TIME does not GO on FOREVER.

I'm capitalizing my words at random, selecting them by the weight of their pretty faces. I hold them up, one by one, crooning to them as their reflections dance slowly in the absence of light.

There's this girl, you see. I imagine she's sitting now, at her window too, holding up the words I LOVE YOU so that they dance on through the night to her papa, who's off to "war" somewhere.

Does he not know that time Does not Go on Forever? I want to tell him, to shake him by the shoulders, to POOF make her- no- him appear. I want to see that little girl smile, and I hope to God (Are You There??) that the father, he's sending her lighthouse signals: iLoVEyOuToO + i'MsoRRy. He is/I am.

TIME's reflection is wavering in the dusty pane- (really should clean my windows)- the crumpled edges of the paper I've cut TIME out of are growing so indistinct that I can feel them cutting through my skin. whO cAres? Look at FOREVER, I tell TIME, FOREVER's melting away, melting away into the night. At least you're still here.

It's so, so silent.

I'm NOTHING.

you'RE noTHINg.

She's Nothing, he's Nothing, they're Nothing, we're Nothing.

Is this how you conjugate verbs?

I wouldn’t know, would I. Just a simple, shrivelling old man stares back at me.

My fingers are dancing at the edge of the world. They tap dance closer to the light switch. Don't do it, I tell them, don't break the spell. But they don’t listen. They never do. Instead, they ask me, maliciously, ready set go?

One twitch, one final twirl, and the lights fly on.

The window is still fake. It's just a wall, a pretty mirror.

I double over. My stomach hurts. My stomach hurts, and the hurt is spreading upwards, so I press the heels of palms into my chest.

Anywhere but the heart, I'm thinking, I can take it ANYwhere but the Heart.

But the Heart hurts, and it forces me to look up, at the window- no, mirror- so that the knife twists inside me. I am FRESH with Grief, my bloody mind registers.

The edges of my prison scrubs goug into flesh. Eighteen years, the mirror scorns, and you're still looking for a window??

I slam my fist into it, hard, sick of feeling this way.

My fist comes away bloody, but the window only quivers, then resettles back into the wall. I’m seeing her grow up, my little girl in the window, her face going from dimples to beauty. I’m seeing her grow up in the arms of the Woman who Put Me Here (marriage sure was real). I’m seeing her grow up until my eyes go red and my brain starts to tick shut. I’m tired of pretending, it tells me. I’m tired of hallucinations.

Grief takes me over. God (You Aren’t There, Are You??) is turning his cheek, and I’m pushing the blood into my gut to drown out my regrets. Shouldn’t Have, my hands quiver, and I stare at the gnarled skin that- no, I mustn’t think about it.

I lie down on the cement floor and close my eyes. TIME does not GO on FOREVER, I croon, and the world blurs.