room one oh one
Photo & Poem x Penelope Joy
the floor is filthy and i want to move the rug it’s not a rug it’s a piece of carpet it is always moving out of place and i move it back it moves again and i move it back today i am in the room and it spins i do not move it back i am in a clenched body with skin flayed
all open
acid bathed & eroding
i loop
the brain runs loops i am running & falling
the fingers investigate the skin and scrape samples and it is all wrong i pace the room of my mind the size is a variable cavern or coffin the hands flapping & wild or bound there is blood under the tightly clipped fingernails and several holes in the face i want to smash the skull apart on the wall but i can not move i am angry and
without
power
i have no voice
it has been shut in an old hollow book and
what is inside
is the worst thing you can think
i am making indistinct sounds that bounce back at me louder and more useless
i am floating & choking
there is a cage
there is a floor to lie on my skin
will become
dust & muck clogging the cracks i want
to smash the face into the wall until
there is no other thing to think about no one is coming
i am away
scum spread across an endless wasteland
time bent over the scape of a mare
when trying to make words the throat spasms and the lips & tongue
fall
away
my mouth scuttles
low to the
ground and circles
the frozen body it
has forgotten how
to
speak
Penelope Joy is currently lost in the Snowy Mountains of New South Wales, having previously been lost in other places. She isn’t sure how to describe her writing other than as a place that allows silence to be spoken for a short while, difficult and necessary. It has always been this way. She is rather fond of trees and rocks, collecting bones and taking photos, trying in vain to capture all the interesting and beautiful things that are there to be experienced.
