A chrysalis or a catacomb
Either way time spins darkness
Like a child traces their hand
With chalk
In a room that smells like the memory
Of whiskey
Slow hopeful gasps for rebirth
Fight the urge to sleep
Long drawn out puffs of air and dust
Coat the lead glass of the floor
There is no time left
For the dream of water
No space besides
There is no laughter
But my own, echoing
Back at myself
A chrysalis or a catacomb
Either way darkness spins time
As my feet trace a path
