All the vile things coalesce,
segmented and fitted together.
limbs – sprawled asunder,
clawing at a sky hidden
behind walls of wood and brick
the screaming bound by form
hssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss
ing until the mouth parts hurt,
the way the palm does-
one hand clapping;
not enough for an applause,
but enough to reprimand.

The back is not for laying anymore
one can only relax on all limbs;
on hands, legs and whatever are these.
The supine is panic and helplessness;
something the mind condemns vehemently.

From somewhere in the recesses
muffled by doors, walls, genetics;
a voice calls out to me-
Am I well?
Am I aware of the time?
Am I clothed?

Stabbing at the ceiling in six different places
in a posture that feels like death I
hsssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss
back.
No tears will come.