He had me handcuffed to a chair.
Why me, or the chair,
– not a clue.
Night after night,
the same dream.
Sometimes it’s a wall,
with my wrists nailed tight;
sometimes irons round my neck.
The eyes are open,
rising in the dark.
I’m alone.
He had me handcuffed to a chair,
and he’s gone.
Strange, even bizarre:
Me not being scared,
unable to move,
yet, perfectly calm,
motionless.
A dream?
A nightmare?
I’m burning my brains out.
Night after night.
One thing I’m sure of :
With my feet chained,
forced to the ground
the wings lay paralyzed.
Why won’t he rest his dark,
Rascolnikov eyes
upon me?
There is no waking up.
All of my wonders drown;
a body must wither and die…
