unlock me by degrees, to me it’s just a muttering and silence, a prayer, violence to the quiet, and “no, thank you, i’m quite content here on my own,” unconvinced and shaking fists powerful, but behind my own eyelids, still shrinking and masking, skin just flapping, closing out the gifts of a moment, if only i’d let light flutter in, but it's only a promise hidden somehwere in heaven, and these two windows operate by remote switches just a look--there--a sound, regrettably familiar, and clap.