the blinds are drawn, the heavy-duty kind
that when fully extended, are impenetrable
against the sharp and prying rays of sun
threatening to spear my long-term dilated pupils,
Red.
And…
Black.
the blinds are drawn.
and I have no intention of raising them,
I have no reason to do so, to go to the effort,
the strenuous effort of which you could not fathom
of raising my arms above my useless body
and moving from my graveyard-gray bed.
Instead I’d rather lay where all I can see
is the inside of my eyelids
Red.
And…
Black.
the fucking blinds are drawn, thank you
I will continue to nap, of course,
no thanks, you guys go without me
my bed is so comfortable, deeply sunken lies my body
and my mind, wrapped in smothering blankets of
Red.
And…
Black.
please, leave my blinds drawn.
there is no point in raising them, I’ve found
since by the end of the day,
they’ll have to fall back down to obscure the night sky
and early morning sunshine- wakeful and unwelcomed.
no, I’d rather save myself the time and leave them down
and not waste my time raising them only to lower them
once more as the sky turns
Red.
And…
Black.
What did you do?
What did you do?
Why have you opened my windows?
Why is there sunlight on my parchment skin, why
Have I been woken and dragged from my bed of safety
By unrelenting rays of sun?
What is the point of being awake now if I am only going to sleep again soon?
How am I going to sleep now,
With the bright day battering down my kingdom gate and prying open my eyes?
I bleed
Red.
And…
Black.
I did not ask for this, you know.
I did not choose to have my blinds drawn in the first place, I
Only left them there- you cannot blame me
That my bed was so warm and inviting and the day
Too raw and overwhelmingly bright.
If I could have I would have, but I would not so I could not.
Please- you cannot blame me.
I tried my best, and my best was so far below the minimum
I’m not sure I tried at all.
Of course, I’m angry now, at this intrusion, this confusion, this pollution,
My vision goes
Red.
And…
Black.
She says it’s a good sign- the anger-
It shows that I care, that beneath the cold veneer of dust and cotton covers
Is a heart that beats with passion.
She says that I have to let the sun touch me
That my body needs the sun, but I am adamant
That without it, I thrived with my blinds, and that with it
I am sunburned and hot and unhappy.
But the blinds are so high and my arms so short, I do not draw them again.
We call this progress, as she writes on my file in pen
Red.
And…
Black.
I woke up with the sun today, it
Nudged me softly against the shoulder, like a dog
Quietly asking for attention. I indulged it,
Swung my feet off of my bed and stood up.
I hate it and my skin burns.
But I still stand, my skin red and my clothing black
But I look out the window and see a sky
Blue
And…
White.
We call this progress.