The Dweller

It’s 2020 or 2021.

My body sits in a little square staring at another a little square.

Shooting pain runs up and down my arms, which must be permanently bent to accommodate the apparatus.

My back curves in, my shoulders fall toward my belly, each day my chin inches closer to my belly button.

Eyes have dried up, crusted over, and falling out.

How can I heal the pain when I am confined to this space?

I can dance.