I am in this bedroom

I am in this bedroom
and In this bedroom, I lie motionless
regardless of the pulsing vital signs, regardless
of the expanding lung, wanting to be filled with tar
because oxygen is so god damn disappointing.
In this bedroom, I dream with caffeinated eyes wide open
painting a romantic scenario on the ceiling fan
each blade displaying a scene
and when in motion, the ceiling fan portrays
an animation of lush hands (one with rainbow
colored bracelets dangling on the wrists
and the other with clumped dirt fingernails)
every red finger passionately entwined with it's opposite
then letting go with apathetic grace, the clumped dirt
fingernails turn pale and makes an attempt at writing a novel
while the colored bracelet wrist ignores the pale condition
and sends a cell phone message, the simple text of
"LOL ill be fine" smiley face.
In this bedroom, I notice the dirt under my nails
after shamefully extending the knuckles to point
at the messy pile of clothes which haven't seen a washer
in weeks.
In this bedroom, I decided to clip my nails and wash my clothes
before I start my novel.