Iʼm used to it.
they said, I said,
this is how it is.
all this noise and
everyoneʼs listening.
everyoneʼs looking.

talk to the ceiling
but quietly,
the keyholeʼs watching.
somewhere out there
the keyʼs going to
come kill me.

twenty thousand
seatbelt threads
ready to rip
and throw me
through the windshield
and everyoneʼll hear me die.

scratches on the wall
I hear the nails
scraping on the wall
counting the times I breathe
waiting for
the last one to pass.

shapeless faces
staring through
the frosted windows.
listening through
the blindfolds
as I try to sleep.

they tell me
theyʼre coming.
through the vents and
through the windows.
all I tell them is the same:
Iʼm used to it.

Featured image courtesy of Claudio Cambra Gomez