You Senses of something just beyond the seen; Mystery. How comforting it is to keep you imprisoned in the neatly arranged room of my mind Everything in its place No strewn socks No unlabeled jar But then she talks so confidently "This is what this means," she says. "This is how you do it." How can she be so sure and not be trembling in some secret place that she could be wrong? Restlessness Unease my soul fluttering like a quiet moth near the light I go to the room knock on the door silence I peek in the room is spotless no shadow of dust I go in and sit on the couch wait wait wait the decor its neat gaudiness familiar as if I have seen it before as if I have been here before perfect in form it weighs on me a surprising burden I want to leave I go to the door but it is locked I scream and shout bang and plead but no one comes. I sit back down and look once more and I remember this is my room my safety my refuge now my prison. You were never here.