Glass-windows framed
With red steel bars
That either hides or masks the intruder,
The space of the anonymous.
Your wall of washed out green
Lined with cobwebs
Rain-soaked, steel-stained
Like wasted times, forgotten.
These electric cords
Strung up on your ceiling
These that glorify the scatter of your bed,
They scare the sunlight.
Bags hanged in nailed hooks
Fake flowers, half-open books
Unused lightbulbs,
This room looks like my hopes,
The oddity and scatter of chaos.
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