Human Decor

Endless torment.

That’s what it is.

Every day to be there, and yet not.

People come and go, never seeing me.

She does, though. Every day.

Every day she opens my prison, feeds me, and cleans up after me.

That part I’m still not comfortable with. The cleaning.

After that, she pats my head, closes the prison, and tells me how much she loves me.

I had loved her too. That’s why I had followed her.

I didn’t know she had had a gun.

Now I live with her, but not.

She lives in a studio apartment. I can see everything she does. Everything.

She eats facing me at the table. Sometimes she fixes her hair and does her makeup while looking at me.

Sometimes she brings people over. They admire her decorations.

Sometimes me without knowing.

Sometimes the people she brings are for, “entertainment”.

I have to watch and hear everything.

Sometimes she sneaks a look at me while having her fun and smiles that smile I used to love.

Arrogant yet beautiful.

The restraints chafe.

Especially the one on my mouth.

My voice is usually hoarse from trying to cry out.

It never works.

I have nothing but time to think of my last, and probably final, mistake.

Nothing but time to think about how soon I might die.

Even my name is a blurry memory.

Just like the memory of every day for the past 5 years.

Endless torment.

From behind the full-length mirror.