Nameless essence

A room. A ceiling. Walls. A lamp.
A meaningless, dim light — so damp —
shudders softly in the corner,
as if it lay there, growing colder.

Beneath the gray old sweater’s fold
the shirt’s pale ghost lies, faint and cold.
The mesh curtains tremble, sway,
in drifting air — then fade away.

A frosty, heavy, nameless presence
touches — cold, with bone-like essence.
Fear and panic — raw and bare.
Paralysis. I’m bound by air.

A vast shadow, crawling, grows,
along the wall — and upward flows.
It rises, presses, nears the ceiling —
Breath falters. Numbness keeps on stealing.

Who are you? What are you, still?
The pull grows stronger — bends my will.
The ceiling shatters, cracks apart —
a gray, mute presence floods my heart.

We are equals. He knows me well.
Who I am. Who he is — no need to tell.
He looks, and memories arise —
of time and place — of long goodbyes.

We part like friends who’ve met before.
And longing fills me, to the core —
like summer dusk in northern air,
in Petersburg, when light hangs there.

The room. The lamp. The walls. The ceiling.
The dim light curls — its glow retreating.
The window creaks. The sound is gone.
No one is here. I stand — alone.

01.11.2025