Room 192
Me – The Dog
A Walk in the Park
By Claudia Wysocky
•   •   •
Room 192

I have gotten used to invisible hands.
    They held my gaze, whispered to me.
Like a phantom lover, they mesmerized me.
It has only been a short time since they touched me,
And yet I am certain I can feel them now.
I do not want to—I do.
    Soft steps approach me, whispering as they walk.
My fear burns my veins, chills my body. I try to flee, but I can't.
   Wings like storm clouds surround me—upon me—and I am drowning.
    —Ah!—What is this pain lurking within?
You reach up, press your lips to mine.
       The pain is gone. I bleed no more.
 —Only for a slight moment, does the cold embrace
Once more, leave me to cry.
On the ground,
 —Alone with sad thoughts
I run for cover
  Before someone sees me
—As I see you,
Staring from the dark
Your cold deathly stare
    Tangles my thoughts, blinds my eyes, blinds my eyes
While I lay here,
Slowly digging
A grave for my heart…
    —A perfect grave
     Among shoes and ties.
 Because you run.
From room 192.
Me – The Dog

The typical things:
When everyone left,
    I screamed,
—Does anyone care?
I moped. 
    —Stuck inside my room, alone,
Nobody coming to see me.
Everybody left,
    —But I want to feel like them again.
Moving on,
Moving on from Me.
Adrift,
                                  Just trying to live,
Ignoring everything.
Sit by the bowl—
Play a game for two!
Nothing better,
                                  —than just being,
Food’s on the counter,
            Waiting
                          Waiting
                                                 W
                                                     a
                                                        i
                                                        t
                                                     i
                                                  n
                                                g,
For my faithful owner.
A Walk in the Park

They said it would be easy,
a simple walk in the park.
But I knew better,
with each step came a pounding in my head,
a weight around my arms,
a vice around my throat.
I couldn't keep going,
but I had to,
forced to press on,
choking on the heaviness that dragged me down.
The final ascent seemed insurmountable,
the end a distant dream,
but I fought for each breath,
clutching at each haggard breath,
ignoring the whispers of failure,
trusting in the echoes of triumph within me.
I was close, so close,
my goal within reach,
until—
"Lovely day in the park, isn't it?"
Yes, it was,
I am most definitely in a park on a lovely,
sunny day,
with flowers blooming all around me,
birds singing and children laughing,
and a soft, cool breeze washing over my skin,
and—
"A death walk? Haha, how ironic."
The echoes fade,
and I am left standing,
alone, in the park,
breathing deep and laughing,
in the quiet moments—
the moments of peace and clarity,
those that I fight for,
but I am alive,
breathing,
and maybe—
maybe—
I should just enjoy it,
My little walk in the park.
•   •   •
Claudia Wysocky, a Polish poet and novelist based now in New York, is known for her ability to capture the beauty of life through rich descriptions in her writing. She firmly believes that art has the potential to inspire positive change. With over five years of experience in fiction writing, Claudia has had her poems published in local newspapers and magazines. For her, writing is an endless journey and a powerful source of motivation. Find her on Instagram @clau.diawysocky and at claudiathenovelist.wordpress.com.

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