In the silence of

my grey home

I string a necklace

with black beads

on a thread while

I await the dark

hand of fate. I

practice being dead,

imagine the abyss

that swallows dreams

as I feel caged upon

a shelf. In the lifeless

rooms of my rented

life unwelcome

messages from visitors

are left with me, each

one wet with the tears

from a star. Lost inside

a cocoon without any

wings, I punch a hole

through my window.

Nothing but an angry

dawn glaring at me.