ROOM ONE OH ONE x Penelope Joy

Room One Oh One

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



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        



                                         my mouth scuttles

      low to the 

                ground and circles

the frozen body it

     has forgotten how 



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.

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