An otherwise beautiful lady with eyes matted and closed is not exactly sleeping.
The trouble goes deeper, the doctor has a laser light drill penetrating her eyes that have turned thunderstorm black with smudges of red and pink.
She tells herself this will never happen again, there will be no rebirth with him.
In idle hours, she self-nurses a cave of hurts. The lights are off; her eyes are bruised and burning. In the morning, still in bed she looks in a mirror; her face thickened with puff & irony she weeps splinter sounds.
Above her head on the lamp desk, the alarm clock keeps ticking, across the room, around the corner, the refrigerator keeps humming. The man who had his way is dark in her, like distant echoes embedded in a memory or shadow.
