for some reason, I've been sleeping on my couch
all week- - stolen the over-sheet from my bed
and plodded it over the cold leather so I don't
squeak and freeze in the night. I can't tell if it's
because I'm too tired to make my bed, or if
sleeping in the living room gives me a sense
of not being so alone like being next to those
loosely shut closets full of clothes and nothings
(and the memory of you) in pitch darkness. the
same lethargy has struck me with dishes. beer
bottles and empty yellow tail all sit where they
were abandoned after a night of silent-drunk
-chat-flirt. sometimes I forget to turn my coffee
maker off, and the coffee literally cooks to the
bottom of the *** like some disgusting carcinogen
pancake. ***** clothes lay about like fallen soldiers
on the dismal battlefield of my heart- all unaware
that even if one fights to win, and victory is attained,
the whole countryside has been devastated with
thousands killed who will never return to the
comforting silence of their loved ones reading
books in the living room.

for some reason, I've been sleeping on my couch all week- -
stolen the over-sheet from my bed and plodded it over the
cold leather so I don't squeak and freeze in the night.