[Intro] The room keeps its temperature. I write it down so it cannot move. [Verse 1] A fan turns somewhere behind the wall. Not fast enough to be called a rhythm. I count four bolts in the floor, then three, then stop trusting the floor. The receiver is unplugged. It speaks anyway. A thin burst of numbers, a name cut short, my own breath returning late. [Interruption] No. That was not me. [Verse 2] There is dust inside the switch. When I touch it, the corridor disappears. The door remains, but the handle is on the other side. I keep my hands where I can see them. They look patient. They look like they have been waiting for someone else to notice. [Whispered Double] You are still here. You are still— [Dropout] [Verse 3] The machinery starts below the building. A pressure under the ribs. A slow animal made of pipes and dark water. I say the date aloud. The date says nothing back. I say it again, and one of the walls corrects me. [Interruption] Listen carefully. You are the interruption. [Bridge] Metal strikes metal. The air goes flat. A fragment of a song passes through the vent, reversed, then reversed again. I remember leaving. I remember watching myself leave. Both memories have the same coat. [Final Monologue] If this is an internal voice, why does it need the hallway? Why does it wait outside the room? Why does it know the lock is turning before my hand reaches it? [Outro] The fan stops. The silence keeps turning. I remain precise until precision becomes another kind of noise.
