A Raised Eyebrow

The couch is warped to my shape.

A stack of wine boxes in the trunk of the car.

A thousand things I will never finish.

Sit cross legged on the floor in front of a blank canvas, a silent guitar, a blinking cursor, a ticking clock.

The yellow light in my house.

The electric bill is too high. I'm wearing sweaters. My fingers in the sleeves.

Turn off the light.

You call it a cave.

It is a cave.

You are all gone now. All living lives somewhere else.

I'm proud of you.

I try to sleep a lot.

I try to sleep more than my body wants me to.

If I can sleep until spring I'll work again and I'll move again and I'll think again and I'll sober up and you'll love me again and you'll see me again and I won't sleep anymore.

A raised eyebrow.

It's fine.

I'm just someone else at the moment. I'll be back. I'll be back, I think.

It's strange, all of this. I travel and no one knows.

I wander and no one knows.

I hummed a melody earlier that I thought I might turn into a song about you.

I see you.