In a hotel room, I am jolted awake.
No being waits for me in the dark,
nor in the empty bed next to me,
but the color of the air is different.
I notice the walls: I am appalled.
They are covered in peeling hair.
A sound from my throat is cloyed
when no locks brush my shoulders:
I raise a hand to my head,
my scalp is floral.
Wallpaper.
Unoffending and bland.
The floor aches with a lusty flesh breath
and my figure doesn't rise or fall.
It’s hard to realize it when I touch
my body, it takes me a few seconds
to process,
as I pick splintered wood
from my belly.
