Line in the blood

Tinker, tinker,
totter oughta
just be quiet,
be like silence.

Mouse sprints through the basement,
roaches scuttle in the darkest of places;
drip of the rag-wrapped pipe,
tap-tap-taps upon the crown.

Don’t look up!
They look up,
and muffle-shout that they are blind,
“aah ung”, “ung aah”.
A chain is pulled
and the bulb goes out. 

Nostrils inflate over duct tape,
eyes, like open sockets search for light;
knees and legs rock against restraints
bound to the kitchen chair legs, stationed
under a rusty, rag-wrapped night.

Teeter, totter;
left, then right.
If you fall..
you will fall..
Don’t look down!
But they look down, sometimes,
and face the concrete.

Blood and mucus 
bubble over tight, grey strips; nothing
left to do but feel the gravity of the night.
Eyes find light, and a lightness 
lifts over the basement. Maybe,
someone else? This is time
to negotiate.

As hostages align
to sell each other out, their eyes
look only sideways. Time to vacate.
I crawl up the wooden steps, careful
not to drop my bear when I near the top.
I wouldn’t need his stuffing to fall out.
We go everywhere together, Him up front. 
By Shaula
source; http://www.everypoet.org