one

a room, rhymed and alliterated as requested, into being; not by a poet, but a boy.

walking corners, counting walls; wandering awonder in the place to be.

two

What was I saying?

three

Maybe it will come back to me.

four

five

There is some kind of pulse in the walls.

I can’t hear it, or feel it. I wonder if all the shifting around is preventing me from seeing it?

six

Does that make me paranoid? Do I feel paranoid?

seven

I don’t know.