the light is weird down here,
touched by the mold growing
secretly in the cracks of my
old toys. dolls with paint-frozen
smiles and a naked lack of
sexuality. i wanted to take you
down here so i could show you.

there is blood long congealed
from after the days i played doctor
and hospital, long before hospital
became a serious game with
a could-be body count. the skeleton
of the baby bird tells a story of
curiosity, coaxing it out of its
nest with a stick. that earned
a spanking, here amongst
the tree limbs coming in through
the window.

the holy water looks out of place,
awkward, with brown murk swimming
forever amongst old prayers. i nearly
drowned in it once, fiercely hoping
it would not melt the flesh off my bones.
i told you i was religious once, no? i
would have done anything for him,
verbal masturbation in the confessional
under the open window where the light
limped in on warm winter days.

i want to tell you that despite this room i
could love you. the barbie dolls hold the
secrets of long nights where i felt my black
circled eyes would remain glazed at
the memory of me being juliet without a romeo.

the whys of this room, the shadows that yawn
like his mouth post-sex, mean nothing as long as you say yes.