Where does that closed door go?
It mocks me, a small child,
my parents inside. They tell me
they are sleeping when I know
they are awake. These sounds I hear
are as indescript as any child
can possibly imagine. Imagine this,
little one, you are all grown up
in a small world of infinite twisting:
Lies,
they tell me all lies.
My brother was born here
in this room, this mockery.
And I was born nowhere-
the realm of these anguished sounds.