Headquarters

I am brought from the corner shadows

of the dark room, see myself making my way

across the clothes covered floor

a cross-shaped figure balancing myself in a room

made tipsy by the trembling of the alabaster figure

curled into a ball on the bed.

I swallow hard, fighting down the bile in my throat,

the metallic smell of lost innocence trapped in

the stagnant air of the small room,

I want to lean down, gingerly pull the corner of the sheet up over the curve of hip, dip of waist

rest it on the pale shoulders,

hide the shaking, figure.

The stark whites of eyes

in mascara smeared pools stare at

the paper thin walls that do nothing

to hide the bragging voice on the other side,

"Another virgin for me."

The darkness does nothing to hide

the embarrassment I feel for having

intruded into this moment of

humiliation. I leave only because

I am sucked back to the here

and now by the bird-boned hand

holding mine, hear myself

telling her the only way to

make it go away is to

finish the report.