I’m locked in a closet
for seventy two days
Only the air and a faint light is leaking inside
through the key hole
Loneliness is neither divine
nor spectacular
It’s just a huge dark spot
between past and future
or between life and death
A purulent spot without a past or future
In between life and death
What now exists is just air and light
Leaking through the keyhole inside
I destroyed all my memory
I burned it with a candle
And scratched with a razor
And blew all the ashes
I don’t know anything else
other than my name
The darkness consumed all the times
There was no night outside
And no voices inside me
Only two things I wanted to know
-or the same thing, twice-
What was the color of the walls?
What was the color of my skin?
I’m touching the walls
With my finger tips,
With my palm
With my tongue
The walls should have a color
That no masons, no painters would know
That color didn’t have a name
Or a chemistry
Maybe it was the color of colorlessness
Or the smell of a rotten body
I don’t know anything else
other than my name
The water that I saved
for seventy two days
and that I touched only once every day
with my lips
the last sip of water
stayed in the bottle with a sulk
and killed itself
even the water rotted away
I don’t know anything else
other than my name
