My mesh-wire carpet has woven me tight.
It once kept me warm,
laid quiet and polite.
But then it bit.
I can’t quite recall how I came to that place—
Now I’m stuck in this carpet-blue space.
Loop after loop—first legs, then waist,
The threads crept upward, slow and chaste.
What could I do?
A mesh-wire carpet feels soft, more or less,
Though the bars in the mesh can still scratch, I confess.
From down here the room looks surprisingly wide,
The white on the ceiling just slightly awry.
It’s not that bad.
My corner receives hardly any light,
But I won’t complain about that tonight.
Yesterday thirst brushed faintly past,
But the feeling, like most things it didn’t last.
I feel just fine.
I’ve been lying here now for quite some time,
Strange, how nobody asks if I’m fine.
The mesh-wire carpet is nearly a home,
In its netting, I never feel alone.
It’s comforting here.
I haven’t counted the days as they flee,
I drift and I drift through this mesh-threaded sea.
The ceiling’s white has long turned carpet-blue,
The mesh-wire threads are piercing me through.
People told me it’s a beautiful trait,
How well I endure, how I quietly wait.
Oh, dear god, it’s strange how I love
my weightless dreams
that come from above.