a fearful, overthrowing veil of white.
it surged inside abruptly, like a sentence,
cutting through our impulses, until it was
clear that
to play dead would be the only option left.
I was made a ghost because of your weakness
and I made you one as some kind of vengeance,
consenting to remain tenants in a colourless room,
while impersonal hands would quietly undo
our place in time, our intersecting lines
and all other details that resemble life.
it didn’t take long for stillness to lurk in,
unruffled by the dream substance
that would subside to white and then sink to
black
while, particle by particle, in irreversible
ripples,
we would begin to meld with the walls and windowpanes,
the only remnants in the room pulsating
existence.
