LIKE GIOVANNI'S ROOM

Dan Provost

Buried in

self-exile.

Looking out

a window that

breeds deformity.

Dust streaks profiling

a sickly sun.

The feeble roof…

Counters my attempts

of hope.

Sagging, ready to crush.

My fragile shoulders

unable to repress

the heavy weight.

This is the room I inhabit.

Abandoned, only able

to witness Kerouac stars

as a tempted penance.

I cannot leave.

Do I want to leave?

Trapped?

By my own hand?

This place,

is where dreams

came to die.

Where I come to die.

Seeing the remains…

Books, notepads, clothes

that do not fit anymore…

It…it…it…it…it

is finally here.

Finished…I

have surrendered.