In this haunted room your face follows me with questioning eyes.
Something inside me is irreparably broken.
And in this haunted room you still sit in the corner in that gray clothe chair
and talk to the space between us.

In this haunted room the white clock with the black hands tick off time like
an expectant bomb.

In this haunted room gray pipes still run vertically along the gray 
cinder block walls,
and the brown table remains in the center.

In this haunted room evening shadows still flicker through dusty Venetian
blinds.

Shadows
shroud our lost images.

In this haunted room the ghosts of who we once were lift up their eyes and
drink in each others reflection in the dirty mirror beneath the white clock
with the black hands.

Haunted,
still I am by the bomb exploding in my head.