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Taken from a journal  - May 21, 2008 -  No time recorded (strange)
*note: not all my poems/thoughts/writings/crumbs are self-reflected hahahaha)*

I sat in a room,
and above my head,
in an opaque mist
I saw my father
in a room, dark as the inside of bodies.
He sat in an armchair.
Both of his hands on the armrests
and my little arms at my sides.
I stood in front, facing him.
My six-year-old pupils glazing at him, vacuous.
His shirt was clean, my eyes were lost.
The chair was tired,
and his fasteners [buttons] undone.