These Hazy Days

Faceless

Faceless stares, back bent
shadows on linoleum
my third cry
of the day.
gray purse
closes softly
room around goes
dark. don't make it dark
again, I say. I'm scared to go
to sleep. I'm scared to lie awake.
Faceless, with her black-and-white,
with her silent body breaking down
the beams of this strained house—
crushes me, slowly, almost
imperceptibly.
fourth cry
of the
day.
fifth.
giving,
they tell
me I should give.
okay, I say, I'm giving in.
okay, says Faceless. apathy.
peppermint on my tongue, red
clock face, no hands, no bells.
tie back my arms, press
masking tape against
my screaming
mouth.
okay.