Sleepless Nights

Our windowpane drips slick iron paint,

And it covers the scenery until there is nothing left,

Only the dull reflection, only the pain,

And a few frail thieves accused of petty theft.

There are people outside, but they do not notice,

Even when I knock and beg in agony.

I hear them calling me a damn novice

For letting my windows get covered in debris.

They do not see how the iron is made,

How it leaks from the ceiling whenever I sleep.

But I guess that is just the secret of trade –

Let people drown, then throw them into the deep.

-Jackie