hello atmosphere.

I keep the eyes of a rapist in a jar by my bed
walk lightly;
for that part of the room is glass
modern-day sorceror, am I:
blueprints and otherworldly photographs in my drawers
beakers and tubes filled with dust
the cold makes it feel like home
and when the mirror talks to me, it only says
"I will wrap you in a sheet before this night is done."
well so says you, my sweet, but look what you've become.
all my furniture, ghosts
rooms rife with other lives
no doors
my paintings are stolen from churches and are hanging backwards and are numbered one to infinity.