Today the window was circular. Circular and eternal.
Outside, strangers shuffled their preoccupations,
from one hand into the other, exchanging keys, for a handle,
then to turn on a radio, loosening the sounds in their skulls.
Knees pressed against a window ledge, I stared.
Hoping for a connection, a small spark of similarity -
but their masks, deprived of oxygen, cared nothing for my pain
and their breaks, kneeled, scattered among apple cores, distant.
It was cold. The window fogged with my breath, then cleared.
dead air settled into my brain like syringes injecting cogealed liquid.
my paperweight head sunk into an iced windowpane, braced against coldness
leisurely dying with the thoughts returning from sanity, ablaze.
Shaking in its splintered casing, the window bargained with the outside
panes of glass spat stories of my dreams sinning with Reaper
As I, barricaded inside my mirrored skull, watched passively
as he, threaded in glittering blackness, attempted to devour my silicone skin.