I'mhauntedhunted by a room.
In isolation there are no decorations
just white walls, white floors–-
a living tomb.
How would you spend your first 24?
How would you spend 24 more?
Another 24?
Echo is my companion.
I"mhauntedhunted by the silence
of a locked door.
A presence so tangible it cannot be ignored.
And when I travel back there,
to the place where windows would be faces,
I try to remember
the fear of possession––
how sanity strained
without sense of time,
sense of name
a piece of glass employs.
And without warning,
I am back in the fetal position,
riding the shocks
of each unknown injection,
being fed like a mouse
on the floor.
I listen to the whispers...
Wtf's wrong with you?
They could put you right back here
if they wanted to.
I may have been tranq'ed,
but I heard what was said,
as I hear it now,hauntinghunting my self-worth:
She'd be better off dead.
She'd be better off dead.
©2024 | K.F. Hartless
Prompt: What are you haunted by, or what haunts you? Write a poem responding to this question. Then change the word haunt to hunt.
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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