in the right corner of your room,
the white paint is peeling away,
to pick at it & watch the entire
thing collapse upon you.

much like the empty things i feel:
nothing but chipping little flakes;
fragile little waste that might
decorate the floor of your room,


naked walls enclose this empty space,
but confused excited atoms dance about ,
screaming at each other in a tongue
that I’ve never known nor care to.


cotton sheets, a sweet odor of skin,
***, oranges & things i can’t get across
cause the line is blocked, overloaded.
i want to; bring down the roof upon us

scratch, pick away, take parts from
the whole thing until it gives way
& submits to the overbearing weight
of unseen structural weaknesses


before being buried alive in this mess,
i’ll evacuate & leave behind this expanse
i’ve been squatting in since i first laid
my eyes upon your deceivingly lazy face.  


(i’m not in the business of maintenance)