Release

I sit in this room for days and hours
where off-white walls and weak lamps and burning bulbs scream blasphemies
of the bed, warmed by bodies using it to find
  dreams and intercourse and comfort
  those repeated nights of restless sleep
of the hairy rugs green specks covering accumulated fake hardwood terrazzo
  and the spot where Ariel gradually, eventually, ebbed away from me
and finally of the chair
  the armrests and headrests, the ripped cloth and faded pink and flowered fabric
You’d think I’d be sick of this room
but still, I sit here for days and hours
on the bed, the hairy green rug, the terrazzo and the chair
listening to the gentle plucking
of calloused fingertips on an old acoustic
before the voice
  something different
  something unexplainable
  something not controlled and slightly messy but stunning nonetheless
resonates throughout, filling the silent void that was once there
Then by that voice, I close my eyes and listen
And I'm free



--- Kristina W.