My lids peel back slow to let another weary day tackle me to the floor. I push aside overbearing blankets and shuffle down an empty hallway into another more bare than afore. Dragging my feet seems to require more power than I had thought before.
Nothing but dark rooms ahead await dully lit by open ‘fridgerators that make monster shadows of purple, frightening paintings that taunt Fate. The shifting faces mock chance of late.
My reveries halt to disturbance that a noise from somewhere below brings out. I breathe deeply in as hope fills me- a hope of the promise of a frozen mouth.
I think in that breath it is you I hear rumbling and padding ‘round down the stairs and I tell myself I am right, for it has to be you; if it is not, no one else seemingly cares. Morning breaks open the torment of day like a ripped wound exposed to salty air.
I swallow back like every day the tears; wrap myself up in old, cold sit-coms and warm blankets to banish my fears. Force myself to endure the hefty bombs showered at my skull like a falsified norm.
The house lies vacant, in wait of you, haunted by memories etched on paling skin. Pacing remains the only thing I can do to strain against the barrage of pins.
As always, I grin and I jump and I wave so everyone can see just how brave I am. I am.
But I can’t be anymore and the salt-water behind my eyes screams to exit the pores. I can’t hold them in much longer and I’m all out of supplies that keep me stronger than I am.
I’ve run out of the fog that my brain runs on, and my heart condones.
I have painted on a clown-smile and I'm quelled inside, flat. All that is left in me now is a crushed can of cola shoving hard at my ribcage.
I am waiting still and know for sure all will be as it was in times of yore.