THE WHITE ROOM

My hand trembled as I gripped the handle of the closing DOOR,

not sure if IT was supposed to be there.

I was in the White Room, and could do little more than
squint.

The sun had reached the zenith of it's arc.

I dared not move an inch,for I could have slipped on the bloodless floor.

I couldn't remember what DAY it was; the cuckoos never spoke.

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