hikikomori

hikikomori

the disease disappears yet

the isolation remains as the gorilla

a small room where it rips my face

as I wash it in the morning

rinsing the little dirt from the White cloth

the brain drys from the inside

or is it the new pill that grows teeth

yes teeth growing in my head

that chew up words more like

old strings of chicken removed

there seems no reason to leave

no one knows me here like old friends

Who never visit from miles away

phone calls useless chat in the dark

here we are behind closed doors

brothers of the dirty carpets

disappearing bags of food

that never nourish the tears that fall

onto a useless moment never ending

below our surface we starve for arms

hold on for the door knock

from someone never wished 

to be seen in rude trances

up the ramp answer the door

never again it's only rice and salt

Barry G. Wick