i spun a knob and a fans blades choppers above airing me in apocalyptic storm it rattles the stale air refreshing the rooms hemisphere a dimlight dims in an orange pale lighting nothing residential bugs in the bed protest my intrusion into their embedded homes i feel uninvited but we make peace and share the mat they walk away as i wave in relief the bog is functional- a pot with a hole with a subdued bucket awaiting the list its a miniature dungeon with a view to discolored walls that are etched with signature stories crafted in graffiti there are crags in the paints and a lot of peels and yet there is room for more- me and the bugs and the lingering tales of former occupants who probably laid where i do staring at the same scenario comfortable mansions for some dilapidated cells for others
Posted on: Sun, 27 Oct 2013 13:26:37 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015