by Ashley Willis
I sit on this old lumpy bed and stare
at the bare white walls.
Late at night I would hear the voices
in my head telling me to
get up and fly.
Fly off the roof and let your broken wings
glide you to the ground.
to the voices
once, jumping off my roof.
It only resulted in a broken
ankle and a dislocated shoulder.
After that I was taken to this place. A place of
white walls and
The doctors classified me as
schizophrenic and suicidal. I don’t believe
that I’m either of those things, but
no one will listen me.
No one believes.
So, I sit watching the
white walls, looking at the smooth texture.
On the nights that it rains, and
flashes of lightning come through
the one window that is in the room.
I stare at the white wall as
broken wings spread in the shadows.
Only seen momentarily as the light hits
them that you see the shadow cover the
blank white walls.
Fly my broken angel, or fall trying.
I’m overcome with the desire
to break the window of my room and
My feet move to stand off the bed.
The bed creaks as I push off it.
I stand in the middle of the room.
The window is towards my back as I face
the blank white wall.
I raise my arm and touch
the shadowy wings.
I smile to myself as I do this.
Then, I turn around towards the window and walk over to it.
I place my hand on the cool glass.
I pull back my hand and the slam my other fist into it.
Glass shatters and blood drips off the broken shards.
I feel the sticky liquid on my fist.
I put one foot on the window seal, broken glass digs
into my foot and I let the pain filter through me.
After a minute my other foot joins the first one.
I take a gulp of air and
release it in a quiet manner.
I feel at peace
as I start to fall, and for a time
I’m flying despite my broken wings.
The white walls held nothing but a quiet reminder
of who once stayed in that room.
Blank white walls will always stay the same.