My room is disintegrating.
It is melting into a pot
Of empty plastic bags, litter, and dirty footprints.
There is undone laundry,
A reluctant light bulb.
Tape holding the world (and the window) together.
They pass by and smirk.
I am on page 52 of the same book
I was reading two weeks ago,
Since I started sinking into the hole.
Pull me out.
Pull me out from the depth of this bed.
The color outside changes
Golden to pink –
Pink ṭo navy –
Navy to pearls on the rolling ocean floor –
To the stillness of the entirely hemisphere sleeping.
The darkness of the bed pulls me in.
My limbs are paralysed.
My surroundings are disintegrating.
And I would like nothing more,
Than to disintegrate with them.