To those days of thinking,
where something on our mind
just makes us stand,
Where we feel lonely and empty,
by the furniture,
the walls and the clutter,
the clutter we continue to procrastinate about,
“I’ll get it later,” repeating to ourselves,
The mess grows more everyday.
She is broken,
she recently got the news on note,
the note she holds at the tips of her fingers
says written in black ink,
“move out, it’s over.”
She had just woken up,
to a lonely bed and a lonely house.
She slips on her yellow and blue stripped underwear
and white collared shirt before
she approaches what was once the living room
full of furniture and decorations,
What is now filled with her belongings.
Clothes, paintings, pictures,
in and pouring out the brown-worn out boxes.
It is quiet and still
like the painting left hung on the ***** wall,
this is material thoughts. a poem based off of one of my favorite artist, sangram majumdar’s paintings, “Material Thoughts”