2010
06.08
06.08
I watch him put his clothes on. After he leaves, I feel numb. Another stranger takes off before midnight.
I feel miniscule. Shades of gray, patterns on the wallpaper.
Pale white sheets bury me in bed.
I watch the lights of passing cars float by on the walls.
The next day, I lie on the living room rug as they carry all the furniture off. It seems random, rather unpredictable. Did I live here?
The last thing they remove is the first thing I hung. It’s my empty birdcage.
I walk around the blank shell like a visitor.