The
city
is
a
northbound
train
Heading
straight
toward
My
bedroom.
Last
night,
I
woke
to
the
sound
of
sirens.
I
remember
it
feeling
so
real,
But
knowing
it
was
all
just
a
dream.
This
morning,
I
woke
to
Black
tar
on
my
heels,
And
the
smell
of
oil
in
my
hair.
City
is
bedroom.
It
snakes
along
the
floor,
Waiting
to
hang
the
noose,
To
push
the
chair,
To
destroy
as
it
was
destroyed.
Bedroom
is
city,
Tight
like
a
coffin,
Waiting
to
catch
me
when
I
fall,
To
bury
the
past,
To
mourn
and
move
on.
I
am
standing
at
the
crossroads,
This
is
the
disaster
I
created.
This
is
my
apathy
and
resistance
Screaming
into
silence.
This
is
when
I
force
myself
to
sleep.
This
won’t
stop
until
I
Let
them
collide.
By
Jocelyn
Mosman
27