I gotta get out of this place.
in the isolation, the empty hallways, the deserted rooms. the knock that never comes. the door that never opens. the porch light that has burned cold. betrayed by the subtle signs of life. lifeless mattress on the ground. sheets a tangled mess. pillows piled. footprints in the rug. shoe tipped on its side. single dead daisy in a dusty vase. fingerprints on the glass. clothes crumpled in a bunch. there’s music not to far. maybe playing in another room. maybe from the neighbor’s car. there’s a phone pressed against the wood floor. it’s green and it never rings. the whisky bottle’s on its side. a shadowy stain seeping in. wandering without moving an inch.
i wish i could sleep. days on end. i’m going to be back on sunday. i’ll see you then.