Faces in the Walls

Faces in the walls

scowling down at me, reaching out for me

I listen to them

I look into them through the peephole

and I see them dancing, dancing

touching their dresses at a party

dancing around the wicker chair

I look at them from the peephole

a feathered dress

an expressionless gaze

stares back at me through the peephole

I flutter my wings and try to take flight

but the stone-cold eyes have me trapped

flat against my bed, looking up at the popcorn ceiling

where tiny cherubs laugh and play

and point their arrows at my face

I lie wide-eyed and I scream

until the blood gushes from my lips

and I can get up

three women watch me

two with bodies of tree trunks

they steal toward the blood and take it in hand

pouring into their little vials

a part of me

I take my leave out of this room that

is locked with a forbidden key

the walls pounding against me as I slam my hand

against the door that never opens

the sunlight pours in and takes my favor

I leave with glitter on my lips

and my memory fades

back to the faceless room

where masks and music blow in the breeze

and a thin man stands in a corner,

his skin tight around his bones and

his flesh pulling at the seams until he bursts

into a million fragments that I try and catch

but the pieces slip between my fingers

and I see my broken face in a shard of mirror

and step away

I’m scared of myself, frightened, disgusted

my face is disfigured