I used to be window, now see only walls.
I listened for traffic, now hear only screams.
Things are not what they were.
I lived in a cell, now camp on the floor.
Once was high riser, now blackened cracked tooth.
Things are not what they were.
I didn’t stay put. I opened my door.
My landing had notice: no cyanide mentioned.
Things are not what they were.
I used to be stairwell, now am ground water.
I wanted confession, got wringing of hands.
Things are not what they were.
A used-to-be person, I’ll now be memorial.
I was unheard but won’t remain silent.
Things are just as they were.
