it’s hot here, at night,
humid, too.
shadows dance on the
white walls,
joined by crooked posters,
piles of rumpled
clothes and books
that i don’t have the energy to clean.
so i squeeze my eyes shut
to the mess,
and wish i could close my ears as well.

there is a blanket on my bed,
deep blues and greens,
it makes me sick to think of the down
and ended lives inside.
i huddle under it, still,
my sweaty face pressed against
the stuffed animal that i am
too old to have, she says.

i’m lost in my own world,
she says,
rude and daydreaming
all the time.
as if i don’t have anything better to do.
if that were true, i could drown
out the screaming through the walls,
the screaming that replaced the
beauty that my sister
used to show me,
the piano that floated through
the white washed,
hole ridden
walls.