Solitary Confinement.

Last week I lost my brain in a quiet dark room:
there it is,
in the corner.

When my eyes are gouged out I grope the walls.
No shapes but gradients,
shades of black.
Cracks of light under the door frame.

If midnight could breathe it would sound
like this
pulsing breaths,
quiet.
A touch wet.
This is the room my mind goes to
while it thinks,
debating when to open the front door
or to wait till next Tuesday.