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#new-home
Laying in bed with feet I can smell from the other end of me, with a poster of Malcolm X and one of Rosie the Riveter. A suitcase full of lights, a wooden violin case, a pull up bar, a briefcase full of comic books, and my bag. Barely room for me. No internet tonight. Bad television. A cardboard box missing a panel, that reads, "size matters!". Tired. Alone. Packed up all my books. Moving into half of a home; no toilet, no kitchen sink, fridge is broken, paint missing, smells weird, windows are ***** everything is smaller and we have too much **** so far all we have is electricity and light. Three hampers full of clothes, two amplifiers, 5 guitars, 2 keyboards, a television, a dresser, and a night stand. Also a bed. Whats left to go. Me. Cigarette smoke fills the rooms, but it isn't mine obviously. Still fills my lungs. Fills my soul. Commercial voices fill the rooms. Lust for sleep. I wanna wake up somewhere more comfortable than here. Every insect in this room owns it as much as I do now. Nowhere to run. I'm on a ship and I'm scared, I'm not panicking, but I'm scared of drowning. Sinking has ceased to stir my fears, because the reality of drowning has been realized. Nothing can be fixed anymore, least of all by me. Cracks in the hull. No iceberg, just pressure. I'm the type to choke in puddles, so I'd say I'm handling well. Hallways full of trash. No furniture here… just **** on the floors. I was concerned that I wouldn't have my **** together when this happened and it appears to be the exact opposite. It's a darker comedy, that's for **** sure. I'd sell everything if someone would just ******* buy it, and if you feel that then hold a lighter to the sky for me tonight while I'm still here.
0
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 4:50 PM UTC
austin-heath
"Size Matters!"
Laying in bed with feet I can smell from the other end of me, with a poster of Malcolm X and one of Rosie the Riveter. A suitcase full of lights, a wooden violin case, a pull up bar, a briefcase full of comic books, and my bag. Barely room for me. No internet tonight. Bad television. A cardboard box missing a panel, that reads, "size matters!". Tired. Alone. Packed up all my books. Moving into half of a home; no toilet, no kitchen sink, fridge is broken, paint missing, smells weird, windows are ***** everything is smaller and we have too much **** so far all we have is electricity and light. Three hampers full of clothes, two amplifiers, 5 guitars, 2 keyboards, a television, a dresser, and a night stand. Also a bed. Whats left to go. Me. Cigarette smoke fills the rooms, but it isn't mine obviously. Still fills my lungs. Fills my soul. Commercial voices fill the rooms. Lust for sleep. I wanna wake up somewhere more comfortable than here. Every insect in this room owns it as much as I do now. Nowhere to run. I'm on a ship and I'm scared, I'm not panicking, but I'm scared of drowning. Sinking has ceased to stir my fears, because the reality of drowning has been realized. Nothing can be fixed anymore, least of all by me. Cracks in the hull. No iceberg, just pressure. I'm the type to choke in puddles, so I'd say I'm handling well. Hallways full of trash. No furniture here… just **** on the floors. I was concerned that I wouldn't have my **** together when this happened and it appears to be the exact opposite. It's a darker comedy, that's for **** sure. I'd sell everything if someone would just ******* buy it, and if you feel that then hold a lighter to the sky for me tonight while I'm still here.
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