The clinks and kinks of fragile bones abruptly embrace
the silent and strangled atmosphere of a lifeless room.
The cold-rugged winter's day dawns a single awakening
body; a spiritless body, alive with moans, groans and
regretful tones.
These lethargic sonatas resonate across the fondled beds
and disheveled floor, that are home to slumberous corpses,
whom, without malice, lay face away.
The sleek, sly sunlight slips in between the cheap brown hotel
curtains, then, ever so artfully, dances past the dusty
air to hone the lazy shadows who sway slowly across the
imprisoning white walls of comatose minds.
Grudgingly, some coarse and painful movements quench the
shy, sorry and shameful suite.
A single Lucky Strike cigarette is lit by one dozen matches.
Ungrudgingly, some harsh and cutting words follow the smoke out
of her white chapped lips.
The sun still slices the split stinging seconds of that poisoned morning.
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