Andrea Lambert is a queer writer, artist and filmmaker with Schizoaffective Disorder. She lives in Nevada with her four cats. Site: andreaklambert.com
Alone in the Tower
I live in a castle in the sky. The House of the Rising Sun. No men are serviced here. I only live out my days alone. In an ivory tower. My moon-colored bob too short, to let down. I am not interested in men. Only a woman. Who is dead. I still wear her wedding ring. Diamonds on my hand. I am alone in grief. Once we ate strawberries. Wasabi peas mixed with kisses. She. My domestic partner. My wife. Taken too young at twenty-seven. By her own hand. She took all of my psych meds. Left me alone. It is no wonder I am poisoned. For further love. My heart shattered. That is what comes after being widowed, correct? I wait to die. Between these walls. Like a queer Miss Havisham. When’s the special day? Death is always a surprise. I will wait. When my ghost wife comes. In her black Louis Verdad wedding gown. Black veiled hat. To carry me away. I shall go willingly. Peacefully. For only then will I be free. Of this worm like meat tube. I must feed and toilet. All for naught. I attend to the needs of the body. Because I must go on. I am too cowardly to hasten to process. Of waiting. For death. I lie in stasis. In wait. In this locked tower. No air comes in. Only bursts of electricity. Flaming sparks. Will explode.
Fevers of the Mind 