Click: the door is locked
His mind unlocked
Watch him through the spyhole
Scratching at his skin
Biting his lips till they bleed
The only way he can feel
The only way to stay real
In the white room.

He knows he’s being watched
But he needs that prying eye
To stop himself imploding
To cling to outside things
No need for any mirrors
In this gaping space of ice
The shining happens inside him
In the white room.

He babbles to himself
He’s beginning to unwind
He’s watching the worms wriggle
Through his neurons
Dribble dribble
Worms are the only real
As synapses streak canvas
In the white room.

It’s just a matter of time
Listen: he’s stopped babbling
He’s burrowed deep inside
And tossed aside the key
His facial muscles twitch
He chuckles, darting eyes
He’s cooked now ripe and juicy
In the white room.

– Alan Brayne

Note: This piece was previously included it in a self-published book of poems, stories, and essays entitled Digging For Water (which came out in June of 2024).