Closed Doors and Endless Nights

She's snoring.
I hear from  my vanity,
watching smoke bloom
on my indigo ceiling.
Listen to
the ticking clock
on my armoire.
There's so little time left.
My wooden chair creaks,
my head swims.
Time congeals.
My body, brain
eats away at itself,
gnawing,
gnawing itself to the bone.
She's snoring,
unaware.
A daughter rotting in the night,
flesh boiling,
draining, dripping
through the rug,
the cherrywood floors gorge,
swelling with fatty hate.
I watch my blood spill.
My life pour,
slipping.
She's snoring.
I listen to my thin walls,
plastered with charms,
the magic spells and incantations,
false security.
The brass lamp flickers.
"One day,
the genie will come..."
Lies.
Lies grow disappointment.
A cancerous garden.
Love.
My heart stutters,
the clock stops.
Frantic
pounding
life.

She's snoring.