Poetry: The Bodies

It's two in the morning

No... three...

Phone in hand, my face feels wet

And some girl sounds as if she is choking.

The air can't seem to get in and the

Words don't seem to be coming out fast

Enough I say to myself and to the

Person in the phone that this was the last

Time, last straw pulled out of a very large pile of

Hauntings and ghosts that are everywhere; in the

Walls that have eyes and the

Floors seem to shake even when I'm

Standing completely still or just

Dancing is freedom of the

Soul, my soul crushed as soon as

Fingers choked her, no my

Waist swaying to the rhythm and

Lights, there are no lights, I want to see his

Face me goddamn you stop making me feel

Frozen in place like some prehistoric

Mammoth. I tell you I'm trapped like that

Beast only you can't see my

Breath and my tears turn to

Ice, hands so cold I can't

Stay, no run run run far away from

The bodies.