The subterranean world of dishes as they clink
Dully under water and a thousand grains more
Of all the rice I didn't want that I bought at the store
Floating sadly and swelling
Crisp color is draining
And everything is a shade of grey and it's all blending together between the blades of the knives that were all used for butter and the residue coagulates and one falls and crushes
slowly into a sponge and emits small rays of light that somehow fell through the window and turned white in the
water
An entire year I've been angry that I can't sleep every day.
I've just wanted to sit and be very quite...
But I can't
I can't, so I crawl on the floor just to make it out the door and hope that the world will swallow me whole so that I don't have to go to work anymore.
I do not turn on the lights when I get home, it is dark forty five minutes later
I'd rather drown in the grey rice water than light up the room and see all the places where there should be faces or a painting or a desk or something to dust or somewhere to rest
I want to walk through the house and know I won't trip til I fall in my bed and wait for a dream or a nightmare to start flickering in my hollowed out skull.
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