Meeting Madam U.R.

Four concrete walls with wooden faces,
Stare back at me, dull and lifeless.
11 p.m., the coffee spill cleaned to leave no traces.
White light; letters on keys, flickering, blinding; keeps me timeless. 

Staggered attempts at escaping this black mirror-box
Of empty hellos and goodbyes and incomplete mornings and nights,
Created Unknown Resilience and she never stops.
Madam U.R. chooses not to empower, strengthen, or save me; she invites. 

Glass holds me hostage in my room;
Drowning in forgotten waves of conversation,
And with every breath of ocean-scented air in this tomb,
I find her being in its creation. 

A crumpled photo marked 2002,
White tears on creased faces, a hopeless token. 
Madam inspects the door, locked with stress, and windows too,
7 a.m., sunlight floods through the bars, unleashing the world awoken. 

Her hand hovers over mine, sweaty as I crouch with eyes squinted and step out;
Her shrill laughter paints a map to follow;
I release myself, in doubt.