Indecision
grips my thoughts
pushing me from room
to roam around
pace the living room
until a path is worn into the rug
flecked with dirt,
particulates of current and past occupants.
Is the scratch on the wall from me,
or did I never notice it until now?
My roommate broke a cabinet in the first few months
and one of the blinds falls whenever
anything
brushes against it.
The couch is sunken in on one side,
and hurts to sleep on,
it gets too hot under my flowered duvet
but too cold
as the glass sliding door
does not condone a well-insulated system
more of an open
with heat escaping in and out
positive and negative transferred through a window
to a parking lot, and a mellow wall.
What a view...
Staring out into the night,
fingers poised
teeth clenching
lip biting
I thought I was over this. I'm supposed to be over this.
Why am I not over this?
Because now I am crying.
Because now I drink in tears,
and spill myself,
crumbling past the defense I was building,
reinforced with concrete and friends,
distractions,
I am higher,
above the world,
on the rooftops.
Trade places with me?
The days will rewind,
like a vcr
until it pops up,
except it will stick,
because it will not let go.