The Angel In the Attic

The attic of the house is painted in shadows
With blood colored paint cracking and chipping along the walls
A musty odor permeates the dingy furniture
Drenches the walls
The carpet once white and pure now grey
Only a reminder of what once was
The woman’s hope now gone
There are no windows in the attic
Light flickers on and off from a broken lamp
Sporadically bathing the room in yellow
Illuminating her harsh reality
And there, in the corner, sits a mahogany dresser
Coated in a thick blanket of dust
Completely bare but for an oval mirror in the center
Like an eye carefully watching over the room
Its stern gaze unforgiving
There is no lock on the door of the attic
Nothing preventing her escape
But the woman stays in the attic
A prisoner to the demons in her head
Sara O’Halloran ’16

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