Written by Tabalith
Art by Eva Elijas


It is getting cold, Jimmy,
it is getting so cold and I can’t tell
if you left the window open
on purpose, Jimmy, and
the door closed so that
you won’t hear me if I,
if I find the courage to
shout in this house,
Jimmy

This house is not mine, Jimmy,
you have built it with your
tiny giant hands and with
your never-bleeding
thumbs and the dust between
your fingers, Jimmy,
you have forgotten about my
paper-thin skin,
Jimmy

It is getting late, Jimmy,
I can’t read the words crawling
down the walls to my feet
and I can’t find your sweaty
eyes rolling on the floor,
so I kiss the darkness goodnight
and here you come, Jimmy,
you look like yourself,
Jimmy

Close the window for me, Jimmy,
I beg you with all thirteen
grains of dust pumping behind
my nameless, grayless heart,
and I look at you with all
my five yellow eyes,
but your eyeballs are crawling
up the walls you built,
Jimmy