I open my eyes and I find myself blind.

Like a black handkerchief covering my face, suffocating my sight.

It pulls. It tightens. And I panic.

I flail my arms like the waning moonlight before the sun.

My hands find the walls as fixed and real as my lost of sight.

Searching, I use fingers in place of eyes.

I feel the sides, the tray, my refrigerator.

Just for a moment, I feel fear.

The earth haunts, even without eyes, it haunts.

The smell of being buried alive.

It lingers like an inconsiderate rain cloud.

ಌ

He opens my refrigerator door and lets the light flood in.

He pulls my tray out and tells me he'd forgotten about me.

He lies. You can't forget a stranger because a stranger is just a stranger.

His 'Good Morning' is in order followed by his 'how are you feeling today?'

Out here, I feel empty and I tell him so.

Because there's nothing left inside.

ಌ

I am stuck.

I sniffle without reason and I hug myself without warmth.

Stone cold eyes, he's still watching me.

He asks me if I'd like to rise.

I tell him I want to but I can't feel my legs.

He tells me he'll help me.

But he lies. He always lies. And I must rise on my own.

I wrestle with the stiffness,

As his fingers glide up between my legs to the meeting of my thighs.

My eyes leak like a rusty faucet,

But I just don't know why.

ಌ