Sometimes the darkness is all I know.
A man sits in a chair in a black room,
television casting shadows and
violent fantasies onto the walls.
He stands
and moves slowly
as if he were submerged in the muddy water
of all the wrongs accrued.
He makes his way into the kitchen,
eventually,
and the pain shoots through his neck
— fool —
he stalls
and leans against the doorway.
The dishes remain undone
while parts of the broken dishwasher
are strewn across the counter.
Dirt from the unswept floor
sticks to his bare feet
as he shuffles to the fridge
again.