Close the door

The table is on its back
and the lamp is on its head,
the ashtray is on its chip
and the lighter is on its side.

Everything is upside down, at least inside my mind. Start
with fights, end with honeymoon period. I suppose I lived inside a smile,
as a child. The countless days or countable days of Summer
and Autumn and Spring,
not Winter, never Winter.
These childhood dreams that sparked their weary, long-cupboarded heads
when you came a-knocking.

I dropped the table from the door way,
and turned the lamp on so you could
see. I turned the ashtray the right way up and rolled one up for you.
The lighter sits at your side.

How lovingly I prepared it all, my warped mind into something you could sit in,
Don't worry - Go right ahead - Put your feet up.
Wipe your shit-covered shoes on my show rug, leave your lip stains on my rented coffee cup.
I'm only creating a temporary rental fix, though I know you'll never stay,
living inside my head, it was a mere trip in your downfall. So I hand
my deposit over knowing I will never see that again. My mind
turns to chaos whenever you step to leave; the space is left so hollow, 
so tidy I must confess 
I'm not sure where I've been.






Close the door on the way out. 　
























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