The Numbers In Question

Fumbling with the moon he knelt to place it beside the bed. Seeing his future in the obtuse fragments of light that scowled through the thick lips of darkness. A vehement lip gloss staining the creases in his sight.

Struggling with the door she decided to stay in the room. The lock would surely repair itself if she were patient. Counting the walls that contained her.

One.
Two.
Three.
Four.

Feeble pulses choked from a long and laborious resuscitation. Flecks of caramel clinging to discarded papers. With bold name brands that need not repeating to remember. And a hint of some face she presumes has to be hers. Though it's not at all familiar.

Just a mime tucked into the clothes she no longer wears. A splotch of red pasted to empty cheeks. A spasm of skin. Swimming over her bones.

One.
Two.
Three.
Four.

I know where I am. Where I've been. Touch lost in transit. Silent songs. The sun rises in spite of us. But it's no less dark.