Mass

The bathroom light is on the blink.

It makes the shadows start to sink.

The floor is cold beneath my toes.

I’ve been wearing too many clothes—

no, it's just the winter weight.

I stepped upon the silver plate.

The metal felt like ice on bone.

The house began to creak and groan.

The little screen began to shine.

The eight was turning to a nine.

It flickered there, a green-lit lie.

I couldn't look it in the eye.