A sort of happiness existed inside me that hasn’t stepped foot in this unoccupied shell  for years
The familiar humming of my mini fridge
Vibrating enough that I can feel it
through the heels of my naked feet
Gripping to my left earlobe
as if climbing its way into my head
Reminding me that here
in this place
I’m much happier than I was on Spitfire
The stench of cigarette smoke
Memorized dimensions of walk-in closets
Forced happiness
Forever lost on that cul-de-sac