Red Room
I’m in these empty halls again,
walking, looking, traveling.
Arms and legs on display,
skin peeled back like marmalade.
Eyes in jars, for eyes to see;
brains sliced up, like mine would be.
And there’s the heart, so weak:
no blood, no beat, but something reeks.
The squeaky bed, the sounds she makes,
the stranger’s house—what is this ache?
I’m feeling sick. He touches her.
The smallest shoes; my feet go where?
Even when she’s mine, I’m all alone.
When she’s out, it’s all I know.
And when she strangles me,
I feel so safe, so safe—like home.