I am standing on an upturned bin
looking through the little barred window
into the room that I was born in
and everyone is happy
and everyone is asleep
and I pray to a god who keeps on disappearing
and I ask the silent shattered stars above
to make sure that the baby in that room
turns out to be nothing
Originally published on Hijacked Amygdala here.
This poem is part of a series, more of which will be published in the near future.