“Exulansis”

by Duda Herani

You lie in your bed,

sheltered in your room.

Not reading,

Not eating, 

Not even living, some might say,

Mostly wishing you did not exist at all.

Your eyes wander around:

the cabinet of unread books,

the dusty record player,

the pile of unwashed dishes,

the photowall that once granted you joy,

Yourself

and the dreams - all of them - stashed away somewhere you cannot even visualize.

Yet, still there, sheltered, waiting 

For you to be able to get up,

For you to be able to flee.

flee

How can someone flee themselves?