It’s been weeks

and I’ve become this chair that I sit on.

I am this chair.

I am sitting on myself

but it does not make the act of sitting

any more comfortable

than it has been since I started

weeks ago when my hair was still

fresh and damp

from a shower.

Now it’s all dried up,

and my bones creak when I shift my weight

and there are six legs holding me up

in this squatting position

off the floor.


It’s been weeks

that I’ve been sitting here;

my eyes to the wall,

my arms hanging limply on my side.


This waiting

has made me inanimate.

There is no life

in waiting.



2 thoughts on “Waiting

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