Resistance

The wallpaper’s peeling in strips of pale green,

in a house that I haven't for twenty years seen.

I’m standing alone in the dark by the bed,

with a feeling of concrete inside of my head.

I reach for the toggle to turn on the light,

to push back the edges of an infinite night.

But the plastic is frozen, it won't click or move,

stuck like a needle deep in a groove.

My thumb is just pressing the cold, stubborn bone,

in a room where I’m small, and entirely alone.