Four hours,

I’m counting.

Parched throat

prickled flesh.


I wish to swallow saliva

’till I drown

to tear each hair

root from skin

to drown out the din,

cacophony of thought and breathing

to peel my skin

until I’m shivering.


Four hours, seven minutes,

still counting.

Eight, dry throat

poker hot skin.


I wish to leave my nails

embedded in my sides


stop time

to escape

this den, pillow fort grave

to clamp my eyes

shut to the black of light.


Four hours, thirteen,

for how long will I keep